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EDGAR ALLAN POE 

After an engraving by Cole 



SELECTIONS FROM 



P«E 




^§<^^ 




Edited with Biographical and Critical 
Introduction and Notes 

BY 

J. MONTGOMERY GAMBRILL 

Head of the Department of History and Civics 
Baltimore Polytechnic Institute 




GINN & COMPANY 

boston • NEW YORK • CHICAGO • LONDON 




JUSRARY of CONGRESS 

Two Cuoie;. Received 

AUG 28 \90r 

Convnem Entry 

^■^S6 4 xxo/ No. 

COPY 0. 



<^ 



Copyright, 1907, by 
J. MONTGOMERY GAMBRILL 



ALL RIGHTS RESERVED 

77-7 



GINN & COMPANY . PRO- 
PRIETORS . BOSTON . U.S.A. 



INSCRIBED TO 

THE POE AND LOWELL LITERARY SOCIETIES 

OF THE 

BALTIMORE POLYTECHNIC INSTITUTE 



PREFACE 



Edgar Allan Poe has been the subject of so much contraversy 
tlhat he is the one American writer whom high-school pupils 
Cnot to mention teachers) are likely to approach with ready- 
made prejudices. It is impossible to treat such a subject in 
quite the ordinary matter-of-course way. Furthermore, his 
writings are so highly subjective, and so intimately connected 
with his strongly held critical theories, as to need somewhat 
careful and extended study. These facts make it very difficult 
to treat either the man or his art as simply as is desirable in a 
secondary text-book. Consequently the Introduction is longer 
and less simple than the editor would desire for the usual 
text. It is believed, however, that the teacher can take up 
this Introduction with the pupil in such a way as to make 
it helpful, significant, and interesting. 

The text of the following poems and tales is that of the 
Stedman-Woodberry edition (described^ in the Bibliography, 
p. xxx), and the selections are reprinted by permission of the 
publishers, Duffield & Company ; this text is followed exactly 
except for a very few changes in punctuation, not more than 
five or six in all. My obligations to other works are too numer- 
ous to mention ; all the publications included in the Bibliogra- 
phy, besides a number of others, have been examined, but I 
especially desire to acknowledge the courtesy of Dr. Henry 
Barton Jacobs of Baltimore, who sent me from Paris a copy 
of fimile Lauvriere's interesting and important study, " Edgar 
Poe : Sa vie et son oeuvre ; 6tude de psychologie pathologique." 
o my wife I am indebted for valuable assistance in the tedi- 
jus work of reading proofs and verifying the text, y , j q 



CONTENTS 



Page 

i; 

ifREFACE vii 

INTRODUCTION . * xi 



BIBLIOGRAPHY xxx 

POEMS 

Song 3 

Spirits of the Dead 3 

To 4 

Romance 5 

To THE River 5 

To Science 6 

To Helen 7 

Israfel 7 

The City in the Sea 9 

The Sleeper n 

Lenore 13 

The Valley of Unrest 14 

The Coliseum iS 

Hymn 16 

To One in Paradise 17 

To F 18 

To F s S. O D 18 

To Zante 18 

Bridal Ballad 19 

Silence 20 

The Conqueror Worm 21 

Dream-land 22 

I The Raven 24 

EuLALiE 29 

To M. L. S 30 

ix 



Pa4:| 



X SELECTIONS FROM POE 

Ulalume J 

To 33 

An Enigma 3 

To Helen 3 

A Valentine 3/ 

For Annie 37 

The Bells . 41 

Annabel Lee 44 

To My Mother 46 

Eldorado 46 

The Haunted Palace r ) 

TALES 

>«/The Fall of the House of Usher .... 49 

William Wilson 71 

A Descent into the Maelstrom 94 

The Masque of the Red Death 113 

The Gold-Bug 120 

The Purloined Letter 160 

NOTES 181 



INTRODUCTION 



^ EDGAR ALLAN POE : HIS LIFE, CHARACTER, 
AND ART 

Edgar Allan Poe is in many respects the most fascinating 
figure in American literature. His life, touched by the ex- 
tremes of fortune, was on the whole more unhappy than that 
of any other of our prominent men of letters. His character 
was strangely complex, and was the subject of misunderstand- 
ing during his life and of heated dispute after his death ; his 
writings were long neglected or disparaged at home, while 
accepted abroad as our greatest literary achievement. Now, 
after more than half a century has elapsed since his death, 
careful biographers have furnished a tolerably full account of 
the real facts about his life ; a fairly accurate idea of his char- 
acter is winning general acceptance ; and the name of Edgar 
Allan Poe has been conceded a place among the two or three 
greatest in our Hterature. 

Life and Character 

■ In December, 1811, a well-known actress of the time died 
in Richmond, leaving destitute three httle children, the eldest 
but four years of age. This mother, who was Elizabeth (Arnold) 
Poe, daughter of an Enghsh actress, had suffered from ill 
health for several years and had long found the struggle for 
existence difficult. Her husband, David Poe, probably died 
^ '^pefore her; he was a son of General David Poe, a Revolu- 
jiionary veteran of Baltimore, and had left his home and law 
jbooks for the stage several years before his marriage. The 



xii SELECTIONS FROM POE 

second of the three children, born January 19, 1809, in 
Boston, where his parents happened to be playing at the time), i 
was Edgar Poe, the future poet and story-writer. The httlle 
Edgar was adopted by the wife of Mr. John Allan, a well-to-do 
Scotch merchant of the city, who later became wealthy, and 
the boy was thereafter known as Edgar Allan Poe. He was a 
beautiful and precocious child, who at six years of age could 
read, draw, dance, and declaim the best poetry with fine 
effect and appreciation ; report says, also, that he had been 
taught to stand on a chair and pledge Mr. Allan's guests in a 
glass of wine with " roguish grace." 

In 1815 Mr. Allan went to England, where he remained 
five years. Edgar was placed in an old English school in tlie 
suburbs of London, among historic, literary, and antiquarian 
associations, and possibly was taken to the Continent by his 
foster parents at vacation seasons. The English residence and 
the sea voyages left deep impressions on the boy's sensitive 
nature. Returning to Richmond, he was prepared in goo'l 
schools for the L^niversity of Virginia, which he entered at 
the age of seventeen, pursuing studies in ancient and modern 
languages and literatures. During this youthful period he was 
already developing a striking and peculiar personality. He 
was brilliant, if not industrious, as a student, leaving the 
University with highest honors in Latin and French ; he was 
quick and nervous in his movements and greatly excelled in 
athletics, especially in swimming ; in character, he was re- 
served, solitary, sensitive, and given to lonely reverie. Some 
of his aristocratic playmates remembered to his discredit that 
he was the child of strolling players, and their attitude helped 
to add a strain of defiance to an already intensely proud 
nature. Though kindly treated by his foster parents, this 
strange boy longed for an understanding sympathy that was 
not his. Once he thought he had - found it in Mrs. Jane 
Stannard, mother of a schoolmate; but the new friend soo'i 
died, and for months the grief-stricken boy, it is said, haunted 



INTRODUCTION xiii 

tiie lonely grave at night and brooded over his loss and the 
mystery of death — a not very wholesome experience for a 
lonely and melancholy lad of fifteen years. 

! At the University he drank wine, though not intemperately, 
and played cards a great deal, the end of the term finding 
him with gambling debts of twenty-five hundred dollars. These 
habits were common at the time, and Edgar did not incur any 
censure from the faculty ; but Mr. Allan declined to honor the 
g*ambling debt, removed Edgar, and placed him in his own 
counting room. Such a life was too dull for the high-spirited, 
poetic youth, and he promptly left his home. 

Going to Boston, he published a thin volume of boyish 
verse, "Tamerlane, and Other Poems," but realizing nothing 
financially,^ he enlisted in the United States Army as Edgar 
A. Perry. After two years of faithful and efficient service, he 
procured through Mr. Allan (who was temporarily reconciled 
to him) an appointment to the West Point Military Academy, 
entering in July, 1830. In the meantime, he had published 
in Baltimore a second small volume of poems. Fellow-students 
have described him as having a " worn, weary, discontented 
look"; usually kindly and courteous, but shy, reserved, and 
exceedingly sensitive ; an extraordinary reader, but noted for 
carping criticism. Although a good student, he seemed galled 
beyond endurance by the monotonous routine of military 
duties, which he deliberately neglected and thus procured his 
dismissal from the Academy. He left, alone and penniless, in 
March, 1831. 

Going to New York, Poe brought out another little volume 
of poems showing great improvement ; then he went to Balti- 
more, and after a precarious struggle of a year or two, turned 
to prose, and, while in great poverty, won a prize of one hun- 
Ired dollars from the Baltimore Saturday Visiter for his story, 



1 In November, 1900, a single copy of this little volume sold in 
^ew York for ^2550. 



xiv SELECTIONS FROM POE 

♦' The Manuscript Found in a Bottle." Through John P. Ke i- 
nedy,^ one of the judges whose friendship the poverty-stricket^n 
author gained, he procured a good deal of hack work, and finally 
an editorial position on the Southern Literary Messenger, of 
Richmond. The salary was fair, and better was in sight ; yipt 
Poe was melancholy, dissatisfied, and miserable. He wrote a 
pitiable letter to Mr. Kennedy, asking to be convinced " that 
it is at all necessary to live." 

For several years he had been making his home with an 
aunt, Mrs. Clemm, and her daughter, Virginia, a girl beautiful 
in character and person, but penniless and probably already a 
victim of the consumption that was eventually to cause her 
death. In 1836, when she was only fourteen years old, Poe 
married his cousin, to whom he was passionately attached. Flis 
devotion to her lasted through life, and the tenderest affection 
existed between him and Mrs. Clemm, who was all a mother 
could have been to him ; so that the home life was always 
beautiful in spirit, however poor in material comfort. 

In January, 1837, his connection with the Messenger was 
severed, probably because of his occasional lapses from sobri- 
ety ; but his unfortunate temperament and his restless ambition 
were doubtless factors. With some reputation as poet, story- 
writer, critic, and editor, Poe removed to New York, and a 
year later to Philadelphia, where he remained until 1844. 
Here he found miscellaneous literary, editorial, and hack work, 
finally becoming editor of Graham's Magazine, which pros- 
pered greatly under his management, increasing its circulation 
from eight thousand to forty thousand within a year. But 
Poe's restless spirit was dissatisfied. He was intensely anxious 
to own a magazine for himself, and had already made several 
unsuccessful efforts to obtain one, — efforts which were to b ' 
repeated at intervals, and with as little success, until the dar 

1 A well-known Marylander, author of " Horse-Shoe Robinson," 
" Swallow Barn," " Rob of the Bowl," and other popular novels of tl'.e 
day, and later Secretary of the Navy. 



INTRODUCTION XV 

of his death. He vainly sought a government position, that a 
livelihood might be assured while he carried out his literary 
plans. Finally he left Graham's^ doubtless because of personal 
peculiarities, since his occasional inebriety did not interfere 
with his work ; and there followed a period of wretched pov- 
erty, broken once by the winning of a prize of one hundred 
dollars for "The Gold Bug." 

He continued to be known as a " reserved, isolated, dreamy 
man, of high-strung nerves, proud spirit, and fantastic moods," 
with a haunting sense of impending evil. His home was poor 
and simple, but impressed every visitor by its neatness and 
quiet refinement; Virginia, accomplished in music and lan- 
guages, was as devoted to her husband as he was to her. Both 
were fond of flowers and plants, and of household pets. Mrs. 
Clemm gave herself completely to her " children " and was 
the business manager of the family. 

In the spring of 1 844 Poe went with Virginia to New York, 
practically penniless, and to Mrs. Clemm, who did not come 
at once, he wrote with pathetic enthusiasm of the generous 
meals served at their boarding house. He obtained a position 
on the Evening Miri'or at small pay, but did his dull work 
faithfully and efficiently ; later, he became editor of the 
Broadway Journal^ in which he printed revisions of his best 
tales and poems. In 1845 appeared "The Raven," which cre- 
ated a profound sensation at home and abroad, and immediately 
won, and has since retained, an immense popularity. He was 
at the height of his fame, but poor, as always. In 1846 he pub- 
lished "The Literati," critical comments on the writers of the 
day, in which the literary small fry were mercilessly condemned 
and ridiculed. This naturally made Poe a host of enemies. One 
of these, Thomas Dunn English, published an abusive article 
attacking the author's character, whereupon Poe sued him for 
libel and obtained two hundred and twenty-five dollars damages. 

The family now moved to a little three-room cottage at 
Fordham, a quiet country place with flowers and trees and 



xvi SELECTIONS FROM POE 

pleasant vistas ; but illness and poverty were soon there, too. 
In 1 84 1 Virginia had burst a blood vessel while singing, and 
her life was despaired of; this had happened again and again, 
leaving her weaker each time. As the summer and fall of this 
year wore away, she grew worse and needed the tenderest care 
and attention. But winter drew on, and with it came cold and 
hunger ; the sick girl lay in an unheated room on a straw bed, 
wrapped in her husband's coat, the husband and mother try- 
ing to chafe a little warmth into her hands and feet. Some 
kind-hearted women relieved the distress in a measure, but on 
January 30, 1847, Virginia died. The effect on Poe was 
terrible. It is easy to see how a very artist of death, who 
could study the dreadful stages of its slow approach and seek 
to penetrate the mystery of its ultimate nature with such 
intense interest and deep reflection as did Poe, must have 
brooded and suffered during the years of his wife's illness. 
His own health had long been poor; his brain was diseased 
and insanity seemed imminent. After intense grief came a 
period of settled gloom and haunting fear. The less than 
three years of life left for him was a period of decline in 
every respect. But he remained in the little cottage, finding 
some comfort in caring for his flowers and pets, and taking 
long solitary rambles. During this time he thought out and 
wrote " Eureka," a treatise on the structure, laws, and destiny 
of the universe, which he desired to have regarded as a poem. 
Poe had always felt a need for the companionship of sympa- 
thetic and affectionate women, for whom he entertained a 
chivalric regard amounting to reverence. After the shock of 
his wife's death had somewhat worn away, he began to depend 
for sympathy upon various women with whom he maintained 
romantic friendships. Judged by ordinary standards, his con- 
duct became at times little short of maudlin ; his correspond- 
ence showed a sort of gasping, frantic dependence upon 
the sympathy and consolation of these women friends, and 
exhibited a painful picture of a broken man. Mrs. Shew, one 



INTRODUCTION xvii 

of the kind women who had relieved the family at the time of 
Virginia's last illness, strongly advised him to marry, and he 
did propose marriage to Mrs. Sara Helen Whitman, a verse 
"writer of some note in her day. After a wild and exhausting 
wooing, begun in an extravagantly romantic manner, the 
match was broken off through the influence of the lady's 
friends. When it was all over Poe seemed very little dis- 
turbed. The truth is, he was a wreck, and feeling utterly 
dependent, clutched frantically at every hope of sympathy 
and consolation. His only real love was for his dead wife, 
which he recorded shortly before his death in the exquisite 
lyric, "Annabel Lee." 

In July, 1849, full of the darkest forebodings, and predict- 
ing that he should never return, Poe went to Richmond. 
Here he spent a few quiet months, part of the time fairly 
cheerful, but twice yielding to the temptation to drink, and 
each time suffering, in consequence, a dangerous illness. On 
September 30 he left Richmond for New York with fifteen hun- 
dred dollars, the product of a recent lecture arranged by kind 
Richmond friends. What happened during the next three days 
is an impenetrable mystery, but on October 3 (Wednesday) he 
was found in an election booth in Baltimore, desperately ill, 
his money and baggage gone. The most probable story is 
that he had been drugged by political workers, imprisoned in 
a " coop " with similar victims, and used as a repeater,^ this 
procedure being a common one at the time. W^hether he was 
also intoxicated is a matter of doubt. There could be but 
one effect on his delicate and already diseased brain. He was 
taken to a hospital unconscious, lingered several days in the 
delirium of a violent brain fever, and in the early dawn of 
Sunday, October 7, breathed his last. 

The dead author's character immediately became the sub- 
ject of violent controversy. His severe critical strictures had 
made him many enemies among the minor writers of the day 
1 Repeater, a person who illegally votes more than once. 



xviii SELECTIONS FROM POE 

and their friends. One of the men who had suffered from 
Poe's too caustic pen was Rufus W. Griswold, but friendly 
relations had been nominally estabHshed and Poe had author- 
ized Griswold to edit his works. This Griswold did, including 
a biography which Poe's friends declared a masterpiece of 
mahcious distortion and misrepresentation ; it certainly was 
grossly unfair and inaccurate. Poe's friends retorted, and a 
long war of words followed, in which hatred or prejudice on 
the one side and wholesale, undiscriminating laudation on the 
other, alike tended to obscure the truth. It is now almost 
impossible to see the real Poe, just as he appeared to an ordi- 
nary, unprejudiced observer of his own time. Only by the 
most careful, thoughtful, and sympathetic study can we hope 
to approximate such an acquaintance. 

The fundamental fact about Poe is a very peculiar and 
unhappy temperament, certain characteristic qualities of which 
began to disclose themselves in early boyhood and, fostered 
by the vicissitudes of his career, developed throughout his life. 

In youth he was nervous, sensitive, morbid, proud, solitary, 
and wayward ; and as the years went by, bringing poverty, ill- 
ness, and the bitterness of failure, often through his own faults, 
the man became irritable, impatient, often morose. He had 
always suffered from fits of depression, — " blue devils," Mr. 
Kennedy called them, — and though he was extravagantly san- 
guine at times, melancholy was his usual mood, often manifesting 
itself in a haunting fear of evil to come. The peculiar charac- 
ter of his wonderful imagination made actual life less real to 
him than his own land of dreams : the " distant Aidenn," the 
" dim lake of Auber," the " kingdom by the sea," seemed more 
genuine than the landscapes of earth ; the lurid " city in the 
sea " more substantial than the streets he daily walked. 

Because of this intensely subjective and self-absorbed char- 
acter of mind, he had no understanding of human nature, no 
insight into character with its marvelous complexities and con- 
tradictions. With these limitations Poe, as might be expected, 



INTRODUCTION xix 

had a very defective sense of humor, lacked true sympathy, 
was tactless, possessed little business ability, and was excess- 
ively annoyed by the dull routine and rude frictions of ordi- 
nary life. He was always touched by kindness, but was quick 
to resent an injury, and even as a boy could not endure a jest 
at his expense. He had many warm and devoted friends whom 
he loved in return, but the limitations of his own nature prob- 
ably made a really frank, unreserved friendship impossible ; 
and when a break occurred, he was apt to assume that his 
former friend was an utter villain. These personal character- 
istics, in conjunction with a goading ambition which took form 
in the idea of an independent journal of his own in which he 
might find untrammeled expression, added uneasiness and rest- 
lessness to a constantly discontented nature. To some extent, 
at least, Poe realized the curse of such a temperament, but he 
strove vainly against its impulses. 

The one genuine human happiness of this sad life was found 
in a singularly beautiful home atmosphere. Husband and wife 
were passionately devoted to each other, and Mrs. Clemm was 
more than a mother to both. She says of her son-in-law : " At 
home, he was simple and affectionate as a child, and during 
all the years he lived with me, I do not remember a single 
night that he failed to come and kiss his ' mother,' as he called 
me, before going to bed." This faithful woman remained 
devoted to him after Virginia's death, and to his memory, when 
calumny assailed it, after his own. 

The capital charge against Poe's character has been intem- 
perance, and although the matter has been grossly exaggerated 
and misrepresented, the charge is true. Except for short 
periods, he was never what is known as dissipated, and he 
struggled desperately against his weakness, — an unequal strug- 
gle, since the craving was inherited, and fostered by environ- 
ment, circumstances, and temperament. One of his biographers 
tells of bread soaked in gin being fed to the little Poe children 
by an old nurse during the illness of their mother ; and there 



XX SELECTIONS FROM POE 

is another story, already mentioned, of the little Edgar, in his 
adoptive home, taught to pledge the guests as a social grace. 
Drinking was common at the time, wine was offered in every 
home and at every social function, and in the South, where 
Poe spent his youth and early manhood, the spirit of hospi- 
tahty and conviviality held out constant temptation. To his 
dehcate organization strong drink early became a veritable 
poison, and indulgence that would have been a small matter 
to another man was ruinous to him ; indeed, a single glass of 
wine drove him practically insane, and a debauch was sure to 
follow. Indulgence was stimulated, also, by the nervous strain 
and worry induced by uncertain livelihood and privation, the 
frequent fits of depression, and by constant brooding. Some- 
times he fought his weakness successfully for several years, but 
always it conquered in the end. 

Moreover, he speaks of a very special cause in the latter 
part of his life, which in fairness should be heard in his own 
written words to a friend : " Six years ago a wife, whom I loved 
as no man ever loved before, ruptured a blood vessel in sing- 
ing. Her life was despaired of. I took leave of her forever 
and underwent all the agonies of her death. She recovered 
partially and I again hoped. At the end of a year the vessel 
broke again. I went through precisely the same scene. . . . 
Then again — again — and even once again, at varying inter- 
vals. Each time I felt all the agonies of her death — and 
at each accession of her disorder I loved her more dearly and 
clung to her life with more desperate pertinacity. But I am 
constitutionally sensitive — nervous in a very unusual degree. 
I became insane, with long intervals of horrible sanity. During 
these fits of absolute unconsciousness, I drank — God only 
knows how often or how much. As a matter of course, my 
enemies referred the insanity to the drink, rather than the 
drink to the insanity. ... It was the horrible never-ending 
oscillation between hope and despair, which I could not longer 
have endured without total loss of reason. In the death of 



INTRODUCTION xxi 

what was my life, then, I received a new, but — O God ! — 
how melancholy an existence ! " 

This statement, and the other facts mentioned, are not 
offered as wholly excusing Poe. Doubtless a stronger man 
would have resisted, doubtless a less self-absorbed man would 
have thought of his wife's happiness as well as of his own 
relief from torture. Yet the fair-minded person, familiar with 
Poe's unhappy life, and keeping in mind the influences of 
heredity, temperament, and environment, will hesitate to pro- 
nounce a severe judgment. 

Poe was also accused of untruthfulness, and this accusation 
likewise has a basis of fact. He repeatedly furnished or 
approved statements regarding his life and work that were 
incorrect, he often made a disingenuous show of pretended 
learning, and he sometimes misstated facts to avoid wounding 
his own vanity. This ugly fault seems to have resulted from a 
fondness for romantic posing, and is doubtless related to the 
peculiar character of imagination already mentioned. Perhaps, 
too, he inherited from his actor parents a love of applause, 
and if so, the trait was certainly encouraged in early childhood. 
There is no evidence that he was ever guilty of malicious or 
mercenary falsehood. 

Another of his bad habits was borrowing, but it must be 
remembered that his life was one long struggle with grinding 
poverty, that he and those dear to him sometimes suffered 
actual hunger and cold. Many who knew him testified to his 
anxiety to pay all his debts, Mr. Graham referring to him in 
this particular as " the soul of honor." 

In a letter to Lowell, Poe has well described himself in a 
sentence : " My life has been whim — impulse — passion — 
a longing for solitude — a scorn of all things present in an 
earnest desire for the future." Interpreted, this means that in 
a sense he never really reached maturity, that he remained a 
slave to his impulses and emotions, that he detested the ordi- 
nary business of life and could not adapt himself to it, that his 



xxii SELECTIONS FROM POE 

mind was full of dreams of ideal beauty and perfection, that 
his whole soul yearned to attain the highest pleasures of artis- 
tic creation. His was perpetually a deeply agitated soul ; as 
such, it was natural he should outwardly seem irritable, impa- 
tient, restless, discontented, and solitary. It is impossible to 
believe that there was any strain of real evil in Poe. A man 
who could inspire such devotion as he had from such a woman 
as Mrs. Clemm, a man who loved flowers and children and 
animal pets, who could be so devoted a husband, who could 
so consecrate himself to art, was not a bad man. Yet his acts 
were often, as we have seen, most reprehensible. Frequently 
the subject of slander, he was not a victim of conspiracy to 
defame. Although circumstances were many times against 
him, he was his own worst enemy. He was cursed with a tem- 
perament. His mind was analytical and imaginative, and gave 
no thought to the ethical. He remained wayward as a child. 
The man, hke his art, was not immoral, but simply unmoral. 
Whatever his faults, he suffered frightfully for them, and his 
fame suffered after him. 



Literary Work 

Poe's first literary ventures were in verse. The early volumes, 
showing strongly the influence of Byron and Moore, were pro- 
ductions of small merit but large promise. Their author was 
soon to become one of the most original of poets, his later 
work being unique, with a strangely individual, '^ Poe " atmos- 
phere that no other writer has ever been able successfully to 
imitate. His verse is individual in theme, treatment, and 
structure, all of which harmonize with his conscious theory of 
poetic art. His theory is briefly this : It is not the function of 
poetry to teach either truth or morals, but to gratify through 
novel forms '' the thirst for supernal beauty " ; its proper 
effect is to " excite, by elevating, the soul." The highest 
beauty has always some admixture of sadness, the most poetical 



INTRODUCTION xxiii 

")f all themes being the death of a beautiful woman. More- 
It ver, the pleasure derived from the contemplation of this 
ariigher beauty should be indefinite ; that is, true poetic feel- 
to^g is not the result of coherent narrative or clear pictures or 
qiine moral sentiment, but consists in vague, exalted emotion, 
ejlusic, of all the arts, produces the vaguest and most "indefi- 
nite " pleasure ; consequently verse forms should be chosen 
with the greatest possible attention to musical effect. Poetry 
must be purely a matter of feeling. " Its sole arbiter is Taste. 
With the Intellect or with the Conscience it has only collateral 
relations." 

This explanation is necessary, because the stock criticism of 
Poe's poetry condemns it as vague, indefinite, and devoid of 
thought or ethical content. These are precisely its limitations, 
but hardly its faults, since the poet attained with marvelous 
art the very effects he desired. The themes of nearly all the 
poems are death, ruin, regret, or failure 5 "^^^ ^^erse is original 
in form, and among the most musical in the language, full of 
a haunting, almost magical melody. Mystery, symbolism, 
shadowy suggestion, fugitive thought, elusive beauty, beings 
that are mere insubstantial abstractions — these are the char- 
acteristics, but designedly so, of Poe's poetry. A poem to him 
was simply a crystallized mood, and it is futile for his readers 
to apply any other test. Yet the influence of this verse has 
been wide and important, extending to most lyric poets of the 
last half-century, including such masters as Rossetti and 
Swinburne. 

" To Helen," a poem of three brief stanzas, is Poe's first really 
notable production ; it is an exquisite tribute of his reverent 
devotion to his boyhood friend, Mrs. Stannard, portraying her 
as a classic embodiment of beauty. " Israfel " is a lyric of 
aspiration of rare power and rapture, worthy of Shelley, and is 
withal the most spontaneous, simple, and genuinely human 
poem Poe ever wrote. "The Haunted Palace," one of the 
finest of his poems, is ah unequaled allegory of the wreck and 



xxiv SELECTIONS FROM POE \ 

ruin of sovereign reason, which to be fully appreciated should b. ^ 
read in its somber setting, " The Fall of the House of Usher.'"^ 
Less attractive is "The Conqueror Worm," with its repulsiv-^ 
imagery, but this '* tragedy 'Man,'" with the universe as '.^ 
theater, moving to the " music of the spheres," and " horror th*- ^ 
soul of the plot," is undeniably powerful and intensely terrible 

"The Raven," published in 1845, attained immediately a 
world-wide celebrity, and rivals in fame and popularity any 
lyric ever written. It is the most elaborate treatment of Poe's 
favorite theme, the death of a beautiful woman. The reveries 
of a bereaved lover, alone in his library at midnight in " the 
bleak December," vainly seeking to forget his sorrow for the 
" lost Lenore," are interrupted by a tapping, as of some one 
desirous to enter. After a time, he admits a " stately raven " 
and seeks to beguile his sad fancy by putting questions to the 
bird, whose one reply is " Nevermore," and this constitutes 
the refrain of the Doem. Impelled by an instinct of self- 
torture, the lover asks whether he shall have " respite " from 
the painful memories of " Lenore," here or hereafter, and 
finally whether in the " distant Aidenn " he and his love shall 
be reunited ; to all of which the raven returns his one answer. 
Driven to frenzy, the lover implores the bird, " Take thy beak 
from out my heart, and take thy form from off my door," only 
to learn that the shadow will be lifted " nevermore." The 
raven is, in the poet's own words, " emblematical of Mournful 
and Never-Ending Remembrance." 

" LTlalume " has been commonly (though not always) regarded 
as a mere experiment in verbal ingenuity, meaningless melody, 
or " the insanity of versification," as a distinguished American 
critic has called it. Such a judgment is a mark of inability 
to understand Poe's most characteristic work, for in truth 
" Ulalume " is the extreme expression at once of his critical 
theory and of his peculiar genius as a poet. It was published 
in December of the same year in which Virginia died in 
January. The poet's condition has already been described ; 



INTRODUCTION xxv 

" Ulalume " is a marvelous expression of his mood at this time. 
It depicts a soul worn out by long suffering, groping for courage 
and hope, only to return again to " the door of a legended 
tomb." It is true the movement is slow, impeded by the fre- 
quent repetitions, but so the wearied mind, after nervous 
exhaustion, is "palsied and sere." There is no appeal to the 
intellect, but this is characteristic of Poe and appropriate to a 
mind numbed by protracted suffering. It is this mood of 
wearied, benumbed, discouraged, hopeless hope, feebly seeking 
for the " Lethean peace of the skies " only to find the mind 
inevitably reverting to the " lost Ulalume," that finds expres- 
sion. There is no definite thought, because only the commu- 
nication of feeling is intended ; there is no distinct setting, 
because the whole action is spiritual; "the dim lake" and 
" dark tarn of Auber," " the ghoul-haunted woodland of Weir," 
" the alley Titanic of cypress," are the grief-stricken and fear- 
haunted places of the poet's own darkened mind, while the 
ashen skies of " the lonesome October " are significant enough 
of this "most immemorial year." The poem is a monody of 
nerveless, exhausted grief. As such it must be read to be 
appreciated, as such it must be judged, and so appreciated and 
iso judged it is absolutely unique and incomparable. 

About a year later came "The Bells," wonderful for the 
music of its verse, and the finest onomatopoetic poem in the 
language. Two days after Poe's death appeared " Annabel 
Lee," a simple, sincere, and beautiful ballad, a tribute to his 
dead wife. Last of all was printed the brief " Eldorado," a 
fitting death-song for Poe, in which a gallant knight sets out, 
" singing a song," "in search of Eldorado," only to learn when 
youth and strength are gone that he must seek his goal " down 
the Valley of the Shadow." 

The tales, like the poems, are a real contribution to the 
world's literature, but more strikingly so, since the type itself 
is original. Poe, Hawthorne, and Irving are distinctly the 



xxvi SELECTIONS FROM POE 

pioneers in the production of the modern short story, and 
neither has been surpassed on his own ground ; but Poe has 
been vastly the greater influence in foreign countries, espe- 
cially in France. Poe formed a new conception of the short 
story, one which Professor Brander Matthews ^ has treated 
formally and explicitly as a distinct literary form, different 
from the story that is merely short. Without calling it a dis- 
tinct form, Poe implied the idea in a review of Hawthorne's 
*' Twice-Told Tales": 

The ordinary novel is objectionable from its length. ... As 
it cannot be read at one sitting, it deprives itself, of course, of 
the immense force derivable from totality. ... In the brief tale, 
however, the author is enabled to carry out the fulness of his 
intention, be it what it may. During the hour of perusal, the 
soul of the reader is at the writer's control. . . . 

A skillful literary artist has constructed a tale. If wise, he has 
not fashioned his thoughts to accommodate his incidents ; but 
having conceived with deliberate care a certain unique or single 
effect to be wrought out, he then invents such incidents — he then 
combines such events as may best aid him in estabhshing this pre- 
conceived effect. If his very initial sentence tend not to the out- 
bringing of this effect, then he has failed in his first step. In th"» 
whole composition there should be no word written, of which tl V' 
tendency, direct or indirect, is not to the one preestablished desigr. i 

This idea of a short story should be kept in mind in reading ^ 
Poe's works, for he applied his theory perfectly. 

The stories are of greater variety than the poems. There 
are romances of death whose themes are fear, horror, madness, 
catalepsy, premature burial, torture, mesmerism, and revenge- 
ful cruelty ; tales of weird beauty ; allegories of conscience ; 
narratives of pseudo-science ; stories of analytical reasoning ; 
descriptions of beautiful landscapes ; and what are usually 
termed " prose poems." He also wrote tales grotesque, humor- 
ous, and satirical, most of which are failures. The earlier tales 

1 " The Philosophy of the Short-Story," Chapter IV of " Pen and 
Ink." 



INTRODUCTION xxvii 

are predominantly imaginative and emotional; most of the 
later ones are predominantly intellectual. None of the tales 
touches ordinary, healthy life ; there is scarcely a suggestion 
of local color ; the humor is nearly always mechanical ; there is 
little conversation and the characters are never normal human 
beings. Although the stories are strongly romantic in subject, 
plot, and setting, there is an extraordinary realism in treatment, 
a minuteness and accuracy of detail equaling the work of Defoe. 
This is one secret of the magical art that not only transports us 
to the world of dream and vision where the author's own soul 
roamed, but for the time makes it all real to us. 

Poe's finest tale, as a work of art, is " The Fall of the House 
of Usher," which is as nearly perfect in its craftsmanship as 
human work may be. It is a romance of death with a setting 
of profound gloom, and is wrought out as a highly imaginative 
study in fear — a symphony in which every touch blends into 
a perfect unity of effect. " Ligeia," perhaps standing next, 
incorporating "The Conqueror Worm" as its keynote, por- 
trays the terrific struggle of a woman's will against death. 
*'The Masque of the Red Death," a tale of the Spirit of 
Pestilence and of Death victorious over human selfishness 
and power, is a splendid study in somber color. "The 
Assignation," a romance of Venice, is also splendid in color- 
ing and rich in decorative effects, presenting a luxury of 
sorrow culminating in romantic suicide. " William Wilson " is 
an allegory of conscience personified in a double, the fore- 
runner of Stevenson's " Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde." Other 
conscience stories are " The Man of the Crowd "; " The Tell- 
Tale Heart," also depicting insanity; and "The Black Cat," 
of which the atmosphere is horror. " The Adventures of One 
Hans Pfaal " and "The Balloon Hoax" are examples of the 
pseudo-scientific tales, which attain- their verisimilitude by 
diverting attention from the improbability or impossibility of 
the general incidents to the accuracy and naturalness of 
details. In " The Descent into the Maelstrom," scientific 



xxviii SELECTIONS FROM POE 

reasoning is skillfully blended with imaginative strength, poetic 
description, and stirring adventure. This type of story is 
clearly enough the original of those of Jules Verne and similar 
writers. "The Murders in the Rue Morgue" and "The Pur- 
loined Letter " are the pioneer detective stories, Dupin the 
original Sherlock Holmes, and they remain the best of their 
kind, unsurpassed in originality, ingenuity, and plausibility. 
Another type of the story of analytical reasoning is " The 
Gold-Bug," built around the solution of a cryptogram, but 
also introducing an element of adventure. Poe's analytical 
power was real, not a trick. If he made Legrand solve the 
cryptogram and boast his ability to solve others more difficult, 
Poe himself solved scores sent him in response to a public 
magazine challenge ; if Dupin solved mysteries that Poe in- 
vented for him, Poe himself wrote in " Marie Roget," from 
newspaper accounts, the solution of a real murder mystery, and 
astounded Dickens by outlining the entire plot of " Barnaby 
Rudge " when only a few of the first chapters had been pub- 
lished ; if he wrote imaginatively of science, he in fact demon- 
strated in " Maelzel's Chess Player " that a pretended automaton 
was operated by a man. " Hop Frog " and " The Cask of Amon- 
tillado " are old-world stories of revenge. "The Island of the 
Fay" and "The Domain of Arnheim " are landscape studies, 
the one of calm loveliness, the other of Oriental profusion and 
coloring. " Shadow " and " Silence " are commonly classed as 
" prose poems," the former being one of Poe's most effective 
productions. " Eleonora," besides having a story to tell, is 
both a prose poem and a landscape study, and withal one of 
Poe's most exquisite writings. 

Although Poe was not a great critic, his critical work is by 
no means valueless. He applied for the first time in America 
a thoroughgoing scrutiny and able, fearless criticism to contem- 
porary literature, undoubtedly with good effect. His attacks 
on didacticism were especially valuable. His strength as a 



INTRODUCTION xxix 

critic lay in his artistic temperament and in the incisive intel- 
lect that enabled him to analyze the effects produced in his 
own creations and in those of others. His weaknesses were 
extravagance ; a mania for harping on plagiarism ; lack of 
spiritual insight, broad sympathies, and profound scholarship; 
and, in general, the narrow range of his genius, which has 
already been made sufficiently clear. His severity has been 
exaggerated, as he often praised highly, probably erring more 
frequently by undue laudation than by extreme severity. 
Though personal prejudice sometimes crept into his work, 
especially in favor of women, yet on the whole he was as fair 
and fearless as he claimed to be. Much of the hasty, journal- 
istic hack work is valueless, as might be expected, but he 
wrote very suggestively of his art, and nearly all his judgments 
have been sustained. Moreover, he met one supreme test of 
a critic in recognizing unknown genius : Dickens he was among 
the first to appraise as a great novelist ; Tennyson and Elizabeth 
Barrett (Browning) he ranked among the great poets without 
hesitation ; and at home he early expressed a due appreciation 
of Hawthorne, Lowell, Longfellow, and Bryant. 

Poe's place, both in prose and poetry, is assured. His 
recognition abroad has been clear and emphatic from the first, 
especially in France, and to-day foreigners generally regard him 
as the greatest writer we have produced, an opinion in which a 
number of our own critics and readers concur. One's judgment 
in the matter will depend upon the point of view and the stand- 
ards adopted ; it is too large a subject to consider here, but 
if artistic craftsmanship be the standard, certainly Hawthorne 
would be his only rival, and Hawthorne was not also a poet. 
The question of exact relative rank, however, it is neither pos- 
sible nor important to settle. It is sufficient to say, in the words 
of Professor \\'Ood berry, " On the roll of our literature Poe's 
name is inscribed among the few foremost, and in the world at 
large his genius is established as valid among all men." 



BIBLIOGRAPHY 

The year after Poe's death there appeared *' The Works of 
the Late Edgar Allan Poe," with a Memoir, in two volumes, 
edited by R. W. Griswold and published by J. S. Redfield, 
New York. The same editor and publisher brought out a four- 
volume edition in 1856. Griswold had suffered from Poe's 
sharp criticisms and had quarreled with him, though later 
there was a reconciliation, and Poe himself selected Griswold 
to edit his works. The biographer painted the dead author 
very black indeed, and his account is now generally considered 
unfair. 

In 1874-1875 ''The Works of Edgar Allan Poe," with 
Memoir, edited by John H. Ingram, were published in four 
volumes, in Edinburgh, and in 1876 in New York. Ingram 
represents the other extreme from Griswold, attempting to 
defend practically everything that Poe was and did. 

In 1884 A. C. Armstrong & Son, New York, brought out 
**The Works of Edgar Allan Poe" in six volumes, with an 
Introduction and Memoir by Richard Henry Stoddard. 
Stoddard is far from doing justice to Poe either as man or 
as author. 

Although Griswold's editing was poor, subsequent editions 
followed his until 1895, when Professor George E. Woodberry 
and Mr. Edmund Clarence Stedman' published a new edition 
in ten volumes through Stone & Kimball, Chicago (now pub- 
hshed by Duffield & Company, New York). This edition Js 
incomparably superior to all its predecessors, going to the 
original sources, and establishing an authentic text, corrected 
slightly in quotations and punctuation. Professor Woodberry 
contributed a Memoir, and Mr. Stedman admirable critical 



BIBLIOGRAPHY xxxi 

articles on the poems and the tales. Scholarly notes, an 
extensive bibliography, a number of portraits, and variorum 
readings of the poems, are included. 

In 1902 T. Y. Crowell & Company, New York, issued 
"The Complete Works of Edgar Allan Poe " in seventeen 
volumes, edited by Professor James A. Harrison, including a 
biography and a volume of letters. This edition contains 
much of Poe's criticism not published in previous editions, 
and follows Poe's latest text exactly ; complete variorum 
readings are included. 

In 1902 there also appeared "The Booklover's Arnheim " 
edition in ten volumes, edited by Professor Charles F. Richard- 
son and published by G. P. Putnam's Sons, New York. This 
is mechanically the finest edition of Poe's works. 

The one-volume collections of poems and of tales are 
almost innumerable, but nearly all are devoid of merit and 
poorly edited in selection, text, and notes. (This does not 
refer to the small collections for study in schools.) The best 
are the following : " Tales of Mystery," Unit Book Publishing 
Company, New York (72 cents) ; "The Best Tales of Edgar 
Allan Poe," edited with critical studies by Sherwin Cody, 
A. C. McClurg & Company, Chicago ($1.00); "The Best 
Poems and Essays of E. A. Poe," edited with biographical 
and critical introduction by Sherwin Cody, McClurg ($1.00) ; 
" Poems of E. A. Poe," complete, edited and annotated by 
Charles W. Kent, The Macmillan Company, New York (25 
cents). 

Professor George E. Woodberry contributed in 1885 a 
volume on Poe to the American Men of Letters Series 
(Houghton, Mifflin & Co., Boston), which is the ablest yet 
written. In scholarship and critical appreciation it is all that 
could be desired, but unfortunately it is unsympathetic. Mr. 
Woodberry assumed a coldly judicial attitude, in which mood 
he is occasionally a little less than just to Poe's character. 
Professor Harrison's biography, written for the Virginia edition, 



xxxii SELECTIONS FROM POE 

is published separately by T. Y. Crowell & Company. It is 
very full, and valuable for the mass of material supplied, but is 
not discriminating in criticism or estimate of Poe's character. 

Numerous magazine articles may be found by consulting 
the periodical indexes. A number of suggestive short studies 
are to be found in the text-books of American literature, such 
as those of Messrs. Trent, Abernethy, Newcomer, and Wendell ; 
and in the larger books of Professors Richardson, Trent, and 
Wendell. One may also find acute and valuable comment in 
such works as Professor Bliss Perry's " A Study of Prose Fic- 
tion," and Professor Brander Matthews's '' Philosophy of the 
Short-Story" (pubhshed separately, and in "Pen and Ink"). 

Many of Poe's tales and poems have been translated into 
practically all the important languages of modern Europe, 
including Greek. An important French study of Poe, recently 
published, is mentioned in the Preface. 



SELECTIONS FROM POE 



POEMS 



SONG 

I saw thee on thy bridal day, 

When a burning blush came o'er thee, 
Though happiness around thee lay, 

The world all love before thee ; 

And in thine eye a kindling light 5 

(Whatever it might be) 
Was all on Earth my aching sight 

Of loveliness could see. 

That blush, perhaps, was maiden shame : 

As such it well may pass, lo 

Though its glow hath raised a fiercer flame 

In the breast of him, alas ! 

Who saw thee on that bridal day, 

When that deep blush would come o'er thee, 
Though happiness around thee lay, 15 

The world all love before thee. 



SPIRITS OF THE DEAD 

Thy soul shall find itself alone 
'Mid dark thoughts of the gray tombstone ; 
Not one, of all the crowd, to pry 
Into thine hour of secrecy. 
3 



SELECTIONS FROM POE 

Be silent in that solitude, 5 

Which is not loneliness — for then 
The spirits of the dead, who stood 

In life before thee, are again 
In death around thee, and their will 
Shall overshadow thee ; be still. 10 

The night, though clear, shall frown, 

And the stars shall look not down 

From their high thrones in the Heaven 

With light like hope to mortals given. 

But their red orbs, without beam, 15 

To thy weariness shall seem 

As a burning and a fever 

Which would cling to thee forever. 

Now are thoughts thou shalt not banish, 

Now are visions ne'er to vanish ; 20 

From thy spirit shall they pass 

No more, like dewdrops from the grass. 

The breeze, the breath of God, is still, 

And the mist upon the hill 

Shadowy, shadowy, yet unbroken, 25 

Is a symbol and a token. 

How it hangs upon the trees, 

A mystery of mysteries ! 



TO 



I heed not that my earthly lot 
Hath little of Earth in it, 

That years of love have been forgot 
In the hatred of a minute : 



ROMANCE 5 

I mourn not that the desolate 5 

Are happier, sweet, than I, 
But that you sorrow for my fate 

Who am a passer-by. 

ROMANCE 

Romance, who loves to nod and sing 

With drowsy head and folded wing 

Among the green leaves as they shake 

Far down within some shadowy lake, 

To me a painted paroquet S 

Hath been — a most famihar bird — 

Taught me my alphabet to say, 

To lisp my very earliest word 

While in the wild-wood I did lie, 

A child — with a most knowing eye. lo 

Of late, eternal condor years 

So shake the very heaven on high 

With tumult as they thunder by, 

I have no time for idle cares 

Through gazing on the unquiet sky ; 15 

And when an hour with calmer wings 

Its down upon my spirit flings, 

That little time with lyre and rhyme 

To while away — forbidden things — 

My heart would feel to be a crime 20 

Unless it trembled with the strings. 

TO THE RIVER 



Fair river ! in thy bright, clear flow 

Of crystal, wandering water, 
Thou art an emblem of the glow 



SELECTIONS FROM POE 

Of beauty — the unhidden heart, 
The playful maziness of art 
In old Alberto's daughter ; 

But when within thy wave she looks, 

Which glistens then, and trembles, 
Why, then, the prettiest of brooks 

Her worshipper resembles ; 
For in his heart, as in thy stream. 

Her image deeply lies — 
His heart which trembles at the beam 

Of her soul-searching eyes. 



TO SCIENCE 

A PROLOGUE TO " AL AARAAF " 

Science ! true daughter of Old Time thou art, 

Who alterest all things with thy peering eyes. 
Why preyest thou thus upon the poet's heart, 

Vulture, whose wings are dull realities? 
How should he love thee? or how deem thee wise, 

Who wouldst not leave him in his wandering 
To seek for treasure in the jewelled skies. 

Albeit he soared with an undaunted wing? 
Hast thou not dragged Diana from her car. 

And driven the Hamadryad from the wood 
To seek a shelter in some happier star? 

Hast thou not torn the Naiad from her flood. 
The Elfin from the green grass, and from me 
The summer dream beneath the tamarind- tree? 



TO HELEN 7 

TO HELEN 

Helen, thy beauty is to me 

Like those Nicaean barks of yore, 

That gently, o'er a perfumed sea, 
The weary, wayworn wanderer bore 
To his own native shore. 5 

On desperate seas long wont to roam, 
Thy hyacinth hair, thy classic face. 

Thy Naiad airs, have brought me home 
To the glory that was Greece 

And the grandeur that was Rome. lo 

Lo ! in yon brilliant window-niche 

How statue-like I see thee stand. 

The agate lamp within thy hand ! 
Ah, Psyche, from the regions which 

Are Holy Land ! 15 

ISRAFEL 

And the angel Israfel, whose heart-strings are a lute, and who 
has the sweetest voice of all God's creatures. — Koran 

In Heaven a spirit doth dwell 

Whose heart-strings are a lute ; 
None sing so wildly well 
As the angel Israfel, 

And the giddy stars (so legends tell), 5 

Ceasing their hymns, attend the spell 

Of his voice, all mute. 

Tottering above 

In her highest noon. 

The enamoured moon 10 



SELECTIONS FROM POE 

Blushes with love, 

While, to listen, the red levin 
(With the rapid Pleiads, even, 
Which were seven) 
Pauses in Heaven. 



And they say (the starry choir 

And the other listening things) 
That Israfeli's fire 
Is owing to that lyre 

By which he sits and sings, 20 

The trembling living wire 

Of those unusual strings. 

But the skies that angel trod. 

Where deep thoughts are a duty, 
Where Love's a grown-up God, 25 

Where the Houri glances are 
Imbued with all the beauty 

Which we worship in a star. 

Therefore thou art not wrong, 

Israfeli, who despisest 3° 

An unimpassioned song ; 
To thee the laurels belong, 

Best bard, because the wisest : 
Merrily live, and long ! 

The ecstasies above 35 

With thy burning measures suit : 
Thy grief, thy joy, thy hate, thy love. 

With the fervor of thy lute : 

Well may the stars be mute ! 



THE CITY IN THE SEA 9 

Yes, Heaven is thine ; but this 40 

Is a world of sweets and sours ; 

Our flowers are merely — flowers, 
And the shadow of thy perfect bliss 

Is the sunshine of ours. 

If I could dwell 45 

Where Israfel 

Hath dwelt, and he where I, 
He might not sing so wildly well 

A mortal melody, 
While a bolder note than this might swell 5° 

From my lyre within the sky. 



THE CITY IN THE SEA 

Lo ! Death has reared himself a throne 

In a strange city lying alone 

Far down within the dim West, 

Where the good and the bad and the worst 

and the best 
Have gone to their eternal rest. 5 

There shrines and palaces and towers 
(Time -eaten towers that tremble not) 
Resemble nothing that is ours. 
Around, by lifting winds forgot, 
Resignedly beneath the sky 10 

The melancholy waters lie. 

No rays from the holy heaven come down 

On the long night-time of that town ; 

But light from out the lurid sea 

Streams up the turrets silently, 15 

Gleams up the pinnacles far and free : 



10 SELECTIONS FROM POE 

Up domes, up spires, up kingly halls, 
Up fanes, up Babylon-like walls, 

Up shadowy long-forgotten bowers 
Of sculptured ivy and stone flowers. 
Up many and many a marvellous shrine 
Whose wreathed friezes intertwine 
The viol, the violet, and the vine. 
Resignedly beneath the sky 
The melancholy waters lie. 
So blend the turrets and shadows there 
That all seem pendulous in air, 
While from a proud tower in the town 
Death looks gigantically down. 

There open fanes and gaping graves 

Yawn level with the luminous waves ; 

But not the riches there that lie 

In each idol's diamond eye, — 

Not the gaily-jewelled dead, 

Tempt the waters from their bed ; 

For no ripples curl, alas. 

Along that wilderness of glass ; 

No swellings tell that winds may be 

Upon some far-off happier sea ; 

No heavings hint that winds have been 

On seas less hideously serene ! 

But lo, a stir is in the air ! 

The wave — there is a movement there ! 

As if the towers had thrust aside, 

In slightly sinking, the dull tide ; 

As if their tops had feebly given 

A void within the filmy Heaven ! 

The waves have now a redder glow. 

The hours are breathing faint and low ; 



THE SLEEPER II 

And when, amid no earthly moans, 50 

Down, down that town shall settle hence, 
Hell, rising from a thousand thrones, 
Shall do it reverence. 



THE SLEEPER 

At midnight, in the month of June, 

I stand beneath the mystic moon. 

An opiate vapor, dewy, dim, 

Exhales from out her golden rim. 

And, softly dripping, drop by drop, 5 

Upon the quiet mountain-top. 

Steals drowsily and musically 

Into the universal valley. 

The rosemary nods upon the grave ; 

The lily lolls upon the wave ; 10 

Wrapping the fog about its breast, 

The ruin moulders into rest ; 

Looking like Lethe, see ! the lake 

A conscious slumber seems to take. 

And would not, for the world, awake. 15 

All beauty sleeps ! — and lo ! where lies 

Irene, with her destinies ! 

Oh lady bright ! can it be right, 

This window open to the night? 

The wanton airs, from the tree- top, 20 

Laughingly through the lattice drop; 

The bodiless airs, a wizard rout, 

Flit through thy chamber in and out, 

And wave the curtain canopy 

So fitfully, so fearfully, 25 

Above the closed and fringM lid 

'Neath which thy slumb'ring soul lies hid. 



12 SELECTIONS FROM POE 

That, o'er the floor and down the wall, 

Like ghosts the shadows rise and fall. 

Oh lady dear, hast thou no fear? 30 

Why and what art thou dreaming here? 

Sure thou art come o'er far-off seas, 

A wonder to these garden trees ! 

Strange is thy pallor : strange thy dress : 

Strange, above all, thy length of tress, 35 

And this all solemn silentness ! 

The lady sleeps. Oh, may her sleep, 

Which is enduring, so be deep ! 

Heaven have her in its sacred keep ! 

This chamber changed for one more holy, 40 

This bed for one more melancholy, 

I pray to God that she may lie 

Forever with unopened eye, 

While the pale sheeted ghosts go by ! 

My love, she sleeps. Oh, may her sleep, 45 

As it is lasting, so be deep ! 

Soft may the worms about her creep ! 

Far in the forest, dim and old. 

For her may some tall vault unfold : 

Some vault that oft hath flung its black 50 

And winged pannels fluttering back, 

Triumphant, o'er the crested palls 

Of her grand family funerals : 

Some sepulchre, remote, alone. 

Against whose portal she hath thrown, 55 

In childhood, many an idle stone : 

Some tomb from out whose sounding door 

She ne'er shall force an echo more, 

ThrilHng to think, poor child of sin. 

It was the dead who groaned within ! 60 



LENORE 13 

LENORE 

Ah, broken is the golden bowl ! the spirit flown forever ! 
Let the bell toll ! — a saintly soul floats on the Stygian river ; 
And, Guy De Vere, hast thou no tear? — weep now or never 

more ! 
See, on yon drear and rigid bier low lies thy love, Lenore ! 4 
Come, let the burial rite be read — the funeral song be sung : 
An anthem for the queenliest dead that ever died so young, 
A dirge for her the doubly dead in that she died so young. 

" Wretches, ye loved her for her wealth and hated her for her 

pride. 
And when she fell in feeble health, ye blessed her — that she 

died ! 9 

How shall the ritual, then, be read? the requiem how be sung 
By you — by yours, the evil eye, — by yours, the slanderous 

tongue 
That did to death the innocence that died, and died so young? " 

Peccaviftius ; but rave not thus ! and let a Sabbath song 
Go up to God so solemnly the dead may feel no wrong. 14 
The sweet Lenore hath gone before, with Hope that flew beside. 
Leaving thee wild for the dear child that should have been thy 

bride : 
For her, the fair and debonair, that now so lowly lies, 
The life upon her yellow hair but not within her eyes ; 
The life still there, upon her hair — the death upon her eyes. 

" Avaunt ! avaunt ! from fiends below, the indignant ghost is 
riven — 20 

From Hell unto a high estate far up within the Heaven — 
From grief and groan, to a golden throne, beside the King 
of Heaven ! 



14 SELECTIONS FROM POE 

Let no bell toll, then, — lest her soul, amid its hallowed mirth. 
Should catch the note as it doth float up from the damned 
Earth ! 24 

And I ! — to-night my heart is light ! — No dirge will I upraise, 
But waft the angel on her flight with a Paean of old days." 

THE VALLEY OF UNREST 

Once it smiled a silent dell 

Where the people did not dwell ; 

They had gone unto the wars. 

Trusting to the mild-eyed stars. 

Nightly, from their azure towers, 5 

To keep watch above the flowers, 

In the midst of which all day 

The red sunlight lazily lay. 

Now each visitor shall confess 

The sad valley's restlessness. 10 

Nothing there is motionless. 

Nothing save the airs that brood 

Over the magic solitude. 

Ah, by no wind are stirred those trees 

That palpitate Hke the chill seas 15 

Around the misty Hebrides ! 

Ah, by no wind those clouds are driven 

That rustle through the unquiet Heaven 

Uneasily, from morn till even. 

Over the violets there that lie 20 

In myriad types of the human eye, 

Over the lilies there that wave 

And weep above a nameless grave ! 

They wave : — from out their fragrant tops 

Eternal dews come down in drops. 25 

They weep : — from off their delicate stems 

Perennial tears descend in gems. 



THE COLISEUM 15 

THE COLISEUM 

Type of the antique Rome ! Rich reliquary 

Of lofty contemplation left to Time 

By buried centuries of pomp and power ! 

At length — at length — after so many days 

Of weary pilgrimage and burning thirst S 

(Thirst for the springs of lore that in thee lie), 

I kneel, an altered and an humble man, 

Amid thy shadows, and so drink within 

My very soul thy grandeur, gloom, and glory. 

Vastness, and Age, and Memories of Eld ! 10 

Silence, and Desolation, and dim Night ! 
I feel ye now, I feel ye in your strength, 

O spells more sure than e'er Judaean king 
Taught in the gardens of Gethsemane ! 
O charms more potent than the rapt Chaldee 15 

Ever drew down from out the quiet stars ! 

Here, where a hero fell, a column falls ! 

Here, where the mimic eagle glared in gold, 

A midnight vigil holds the swarthy bat ; 

Here, where the dames of Rome their gilded hair 20 

Waved to the wind, now wave the reed and thistle ; 

Here, where on golden throne the monarch lolled, 

Glides, spectre-like, unto his marble home, 

Lit by the wan light of the horned moon. 

The swift and silent lizard of the stones. 25 

But stay ! these walls, these ivy-clad arcades. 

These mouldering plinths, these sad and blackened shafts. 

These vague entablatures, this crumbling frieze. 

These shattered cornices, this wreck, this ruin. 

These stones — alas ! these gray stones — are they all, 3° 



l6 SELECTIONS FROM POE 

All of the famed and the colossal left 
By the corrosive Hours to Fate and me? 

" Not all " — the Echoes answer me — " not all ! 

Prophetic sounds and loud arise forever 

From us, and from all Ruin, unto the wise, 35 

As melody from Memnon to the Sun. 

We rule the hearts of mightiest men — we rule 

With a despotic sway all giant minds. 

We are not impotent, we pallid stones : 

Not all our power is gone, not all our fame, 40 

Not all the magic of our high renown. 

Not all the wonder that encircles us. 

Not all the mysteries that in us he. 

Not all the memories that hang upon 

And cling around about us as a garment, 45 

Clothing us in a robe of more than glory." 



HYMN 

At morn — at noon — at twilight dim, 
Maria ! thou hast heard my hymn. 
In joy and woe, in good and ill. 
Mother of God, be with me still ! 
When the hours flew brightly by. 
And not a cloud obscured the sky. 
My soul, lest it should truant be. 
Thy grace did guide to thine and thee. 
Now, when storms of fate o'ercast 
Darkly my Present and my Past, 
Let my Future radiant shine 
With sweet hopes of thee and thine ! 



TO ONE IN PARADISE 17 

TO ONE IN PARADISE 

Thou wast all that to me, love, 

For which my soul did pine : 
A green isle in the sea, love, 

A fountain and a shrine 
All wreathed with fairy fruits and flowers, 5 

And all the flowers were mine. 

Ah, dream too bright to last ! 

Ah, starry Hope, that didst arise 
But to be overcast ! 

A voice from out the Future cries, 10 

" On ! on ! " — but o'er the Past 

(Dim gulf !) my spirit hovering lies 
Mute, motionless, aghast. 

For, alas ! alas ! with me 

The light of Life is o'er ! 15 

No more — no more — no more — 
(Such language holds the solemn sea 

To the sands upon the shore) 
Shall bloom the thunder-blasted tree, 

Or the stricken eagle soar. 20 

And all my days are trances, 

And all my nightly dreams 
Are where thy gray eye glances. 

And where thy footstep gleams — 
In what ethereal dances, 25 

By what eternal streams. 



l8 SELECTIONS FROM POE 



TO F- 



Beloved ! amid the earnest woes 
That crowd around my earthly path 

(Drear path, alas ! where grows 

Not even one lonely rose), 
My soul at least a solace hath 

In dreams of thee, and therein knows 

An Eden of bland repose. 

And thus thy memory is to me 
Like some enchanted far-off isle 

In some tumultuous sea, — 

Some ocean throbbing far and free 
With storms, but where meanwhile 

Serenest skies continually 

Just o'er that one bright island smile. 

TO F S S. O D 

Thou wouldst be loved? — then let thy heart 

From its present pathway part not : 
Being everything which now thou art, 

Be nothing which thou art not. 
So with the world thy gentle ways, 

Thy grace, thy more than beauty. 
Shall be an endless theme of praise, 

And love — a simple duty. 

TO ZANTE 

Fair isle, that from the fairest of all flowers 
Thy gentlest of all gentle names dost take. 

How many memories of what radiant hours 
At sight of thee and thine at once awake ! 



BRIDAL BALLAD I9 

How many scenes of what departed bliss, 5 

How many thoughts of what entombed hopes, 
How many visions of a maiden that is 

No more — no more upon thy verdant slopes ! 
No more ! alas, that magical sad sound 

Transforming all ! Thy charms shall please no more, 10 
Thy memory no more. Accursed ground ! 

Henceforth I hold thy flower-enamelled shore, 
O hyacinthine isle ! O purple Zante ! 
" Isola d'oro ! Fior di Levante ! " 



BRIDAL BALLAD 

The ring is on my hand, 

And the wreath is on my brow ; 
Satins and jewels grand 
Are all at my command, 

And I am happy now. 5 

And my lord he loves me well ; 

But, when first he breathed his vow, 
I felt my bosom swell, 
For the words rang as a knell, 
And the voice seemed his who fell 10 

In the battle down the dell. 

And who is happy now. 

But he spoke to reassure me. 

And he kissed my pallid brow. 
While a reverie came o'er me, 15 

And to the church- yard bore me, 
And I sighed to him before me, 
Thinking him dead D'Elormie, 

" Oh, I am happy now ! " 



20 SELECTIONS FROM FOE 

And thus the words were spoken, 20 

And this the plighted vow ; 
And though my faith be broken, 
And though my heart be broken. 
Here is a ring, as token 

That I am happy now ! 25 ^ 

Would God I could awaken ! 

For I dream I know not how. 
And my soul is sorely shaken 
Lest an evil step be taken, 
Lest the dead who is forsaken 

May not be happy now. 



SILENCE 

There are some qualities, some incorporate things, 

That have a double life, which thus is made 
A type of that twin entity which springs 

From matter and light, evinced in solid and shade. 
There is a twofold Silence — sea and shore, 
Body and soul. One dwells in lonely places. 
Newly with grass o'ergrown ; some solemn graces. 
Some human memories and tearful lore, 
Render him terrorless : his name's " No More." 
He is the corporate Silence : dread him not : 

No power hath he of evil in himself ; 
But should some urgent fate (untimely lot !) 

Bring thee to meet his shadow (nameless elf, 
That haunteth the lone regions where hath trod 
No foot of man), commend thyself to God ! 15 



THE CONQUEROR WORM 21 

THE CONQUEROR WORM 

Lo ! 't is a gala night 

Within the lonesome latter years. 
An angel throng, bewinged, bedight 

In veils, and drowned in tears, 
Sit in a theatre to see 5 

A play of hopes and fears, 
While the orchestra breathes fitfully 

The music of the spheres. 

Mimes, in the form of God on high, 

Mutter and mumble low, lo 

And hither and thither fly ; 

Mere puppets they, who come and go 
At bidding of vast formless things 

That shift the scenery to and fro. 
Flapping from out their condor wings 15 

Invisible Woe. 



That motley drama — oh, be sure 

It shall not be forgot ! 
With its Phantom chased for evermore 

By a crowd that seize it not, 20 

Through a circle that ever returneth in 

To the self-same spot ; 
And much of Madness, and more of Sin, 

And Horror the soul of the plot. 

But see amid the mimic rout 25 

A crawling shape intrude : 
A blood-red thing that writhes from out 

The scenic solitude ! 



22 SELECTIONS FROM POE 

It writhes — it writhes ! — with mortal pangs 

The mimes become its food, 30 

And seraphs sob at vermin fangs 
In human gore imbued. 

Out — out are the lights — out all ! 

And over each quivering form 
The curtain, a funeral pall, 35 

Comes down with the rush of a storm, 
While the angels, all pallid and wan. 

Uprising, unveihng, affirm 
That the play is the tragedy, " Man," 

And its hero, the Conqueror Worm. 40 



DREAM-LAND 

By a route obscure and lonely, 
Haunted by ill angels only. 
Where an Eidolon, named Night, 
On a black throne reigns upright, 
I have reached these lands but newly 
From an ultimate dim Thule : 
From a wild weird clime that heth, subhme, 
Out of Space — out of Time. 
Bottomless vales and boundless floods. 
And chasms and caves and Titan woods, 
With forms that no man can discover 
For the tears that drip all over ; 
Mountains toppling evermore 
Into seas without a shore ; 
Seas that restlessly aspire. 
Surging, unto skies of fire ; 
Lakes that endlessly outspread 
Their lone waters, lone and dead, — 



DREAM-LAND 23 

Their still waters, still and chilly 

With the snows of the lolling lily. 20 

By the lakes that thus outspread 

Their lone waters, lone and dead, — 

Their sad waters, sad and chilly 

With the snows of the lolling lily ; 

By the mountains — near the river 25 

Murmuring lowly, murmuring ever ; 

By the gray woods, by the swamp 

Where the toad and the newt encamp ; 

By the dismal tarns and pools 

Where dwell the Ghouls ; 3° 

By each spot the most unholy, 
In each nook most melancholy, — 
There the traveller meets aghast 
Sheeted Memories of the Past : 
Shrouded forms that start and sigh 35 

As they pass the wanderer by, 
White-robed forms of friends long given, 
In agony, to the Earth — and Heaven. 

For the heart whose woes are legion 

' T is a peaceful, soothing region ; 40 

For the spirit that walks in shadow 

'T is — oh, 't is an Eldorado ! 

But the traveller, travelling through it, 

May not — dare not openly view it ; 

Never its mysteries are exposed 45 

To the weak human eye unclosed ; 

So wills its King, who hath forbid 

The uplifting of the fringM lid ; 

And thus the sad Soul that here passes 

Beholds it but through darkened glasses. 5° 



24 SELECTIONS FROM POE 

By a route obscure and lonely, 

Haunted by ill angels only, 

Where an Eidolon, named Night, 

On a black throne reigns upright, 

I have wandered home but newly 55 

From this ultimate dim Thule. 



THE RAVEN 

Once upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered, weak and 

weary. 
Over many a quaint and curious volume of forgotten lore, — 
While I nodded, nearly napping, suddenly there came a 

tapping. 
As of some one gently rapping, rapping at my chamber door. 
"'Tis some visitor," I muttered, "tapping at my chamber 

door : 5 

Only this and nothing more." 

Ah, distinctly I remember it was in the bleak December, 
And each separate dying ember wrought its ghost upon the 

floor. 
Eagerly I wished the morrow ; — vainly I had sought to 

borrow 
From my books surcease of sorrow — sorrow for the lost 

Lenore, lo 

For the rare and radiant maiden whom the angels name 

Lenore : 

Nameless here forevermore. 

And the silken sad uncertain rustling of each purple curtain 

Thrilled ipe — filled me with fantastic terrors never felt 

before ; 14 

So that now, to still the beating of my heart, I stood repeating 



THE RAVEN 25 

"'Tis some visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door, 
Some late visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door : 

This it is and nothing more." 18 

Presently my soul grew stronger ; hesitating then no longer, 
" Sir," said I, " or Madam, truly your forgiveness I implore ; 
But the fact is I was napping, and so gently you came rapping, 
And so faintly you came tapping, tapping at my chamber 

door, 
That I scarce was sure I heard you" — here I opened wide 

the door : — 

Darkness there and nothing more. 

Deep into that darkness peering, long I stood there wonder- 
ing, fearing, 25 

Doubting, dreaming dreams no mortals ever dared to dream 
before ; 

But the silence was unbroken, and the stillness gave no token, 

And the only word there spoken was the whispered word, 
"Lenore? " 

This I whispered, and an echo murmured back the word, 
*' Lenore : " 

Merely this and nothing more. 30 

Back into the chamber turning, all my soul within me burning. 
Soon again I heard a tapping somewhat louder than before. 
"Surely," said I, "surely that is something at my window 

lattice ; 
Let me see, then, what thereat is, and this mystery explore ; 
Let my heart be still a moment and this mystery explore : 35 
'Tis the wind and nothing more." 

Open here I flung the shutter, when, with many a flirt and 

flutter. 
In there stepped a stately Raven of the saintly days of yore. 



26 SELECTIONS FROM POE 

Not the least obeisance made he ; not a minute stopped or 

stayed he ; 
But, with mien of lord or lady, perched above my chamber 

door, 40 

Perched upon a bust of Pallas just above my chamber door : 
Perched, and sat, and nothing more. 

Then this ebony bird beguiling my sad fancy into smiling 

By the grave and stern decorum of the countenance it wore, — 

" Though thy crest be shorn and shaven, thou," I said, *' art 

sure no craven, 45 

Ghastly grim and ancient Raven wandering from the Nightly 

shore : 
Tell me what thy lordly name is on the Night's Plutonian 

shore ! " 

Quoth the Raven, " Nevermore." 

Much I marvelled this ungainly fowl to hear discourse so 

plainly, 
Though its answer little meaning — little relevancy bore ; 50 
For we cannot help agreeing that no living human being 
Ever yet was blessed with seeing bird above his chamber 

door. 
Bird or beast upon the sculptured bust above his chamber door, 
With such name as " Nevermore." 

But the Raven, sitting lonely on the placid bust, spoke only 
That one word, as if his soul in that one word he did outpour. 
Nothing further then he uttered, not a feather then he 

fluttered, 57 

Till I scarcely more than muttered, — "Other friends have 

flown before ; 
On the morrow he will leave me, as my Hopes have flown 

before." 

Then the bird said, " Nevermore." 



THE RAVEN 2/ 

Startled at the stillness broken by reply so aptly spoken, 
''Doubtless," said I, "what it utters is its only stock and 

store. 
Caught from some unhappy master whom unmerciful Disaster 
Followed fast and followed faster till his songs one burden 

bore : 
Till the dirges of his Hope that melancholy burden bore 65 
Of ' Never — nevermore.' " 

But the Raven still beguiling all my fancy into smiling, 
Straight I wheeled a cushioned seat in front of bird and bust 

and door ; 
Then, upon the velvet sinking, I betook myself to linking 
Fancy unto fancy, thinking what this ominous bird of yore, 70 
What this grim, ungainly, ghastly, gaunt, and ominous bird of 

yore 

Meant in croaking " Nevermore." 

This I sat engaged in guessing, but no syllable expressing 
To the fowl whose fiery eyes now burned into my bosom's 
core ; 74 

This and more I sat divining, with my head at ease reclining 
On the cushion's velvet lining that the lamp-light gloated o'er, 
But whose velvet violet lining with the lamp-light gloating o'er 
She shall press, ah, nevermore ! 

Then, methought, the air grew denser, perfumed from an unseen 
censer 79 

Swung by seraphim whose foot-falls tinkled on the tufted floor. 

" Wretch," I cried, " thy God hath lent thee — by these angels 
he hath sent thee 

Respite — respite and nepenthe from thy memories of Lenore ! 

Quaff, oh quaff this kind nepenthe, and forget this lost Lenore ! " 
Quoth the Raven, " Nevermore." 



28 SELECTIONS FROM POE 

"Prophet!" said I, "thing of evil! prophet still, if bird or 

devil ! 85 

Whether Tempter sent, or whether tempest tossed thee here 

ashore, 
Desolate yet all undaunted, on this desert land enchanted — 
On this home by Horror haunted — tell me truly, I implore : 
Is there — is there balm in Gilead ? — tell me — tell me, I 
implore !" 

Quoth the Raven, " Nevermore." 90 

"Prophet ! " said I, "thing of evil — prophet still, if bird or 

devil ! 
By that Heaven that bends above us, by that God we both 

adore. 
Tell this soul with sorrow laden if, within the distant Aidenn, 
It shall clasp a sainted maiden whom the angels name Lenore : 
Clasp a rare and radiant maiden whom the angels name 

Lenore." 95 

Quoth the Raven, " Nevermore." 

" Be that word our sign of parting, bird or fiend ! " I shrieked, 

upstarting : 
" Get thee back into the tempest and the Night's Plutonian 

shore ! 
Leave no black plume as a token of that lie thy soul hath 

spoken ! 99 

Leave my loneliness unbroken ! quit the bust above my door ! 
Take thy beak from out my heart, and take thy form from off 

my door 1 " 

Quoth the Raven, " Nevermore." 

And the Raven, never flitting, still is sitting, still is sitting 
On the pallid bust of Pallas just above my chamber door ; 
And his eyes have all the seeming of a demon's that is 
dreaming, 105 



EULALIE 



29 



And the lamp-light o'er him streaming throws his shadow on 

the floor : 
And my soul from out that shadow that lies floating on the floor 
Shall be lifted — nevermore. 



EULALIE 

I dwelt alone 

In a world of moan, 
And my soul was a stagnant tide, 
Till the fair and gentle Eulalie became my blushing bride, 4 
Till the yellow-haired young Eulalie became my smiling bride. 

Ah, less — less bright 
The stars of the night 
Than the eyes of the radiant girl ! 
And never a flake 

That the vapor can make 10 

With the moon-tints of purple and pearl 
Can vie with the modest Eulalie's most unregarded curl. 
Can compare with the bright-eyed Eulalie's most humble and 
careless curl. 

Now doubt — now pain 

Come never again, 15 

For her soul gives me sigh for sigh ; 
And all day long 
Shines, bright and strong, 
Astarte within the sky. 
While ever to her dear Eulalie upturns her matron eye, 20 
While ever to her young Eulalie upturns her violet eye. 



30 SELECTIONS FROM POE 



TO M. L. S 



Of all who hail thy presence as the morning ; 

Of all to whom thine absence is the night, 

The blotting utterly from out high heaven 

The sacred sun ; of all who, weeping, bless thee 

Hourly for hope, for life, ah ! above all. 

For the resurrection of deep-buried faith 

In truth, in virtue, in humanity; 

Of all who, on despair's unhallowed bed 

Lying down to die, have suddenly arisen 

At thy soft-murmured words, '' Let there be light ! " 

At the soft-murmured words that were fulfilled 

In the seraphic glancing of thine eyes ; 

Of all who owe thee most, whose gratitude 

Nearest resembles worship, oh, remember 

The truest, the most fervently devoted, 

And think that these weak lines are written by him 

By him, who, as he pens them, thrills to think 

His spirit is communing with an angel's. 

ULALUME 

The skies they were ashen and sober ; 

The leaves they were crisped and sere, 

The leaves they were withering and sere ; 
It was night in the lonesome October 

Of my most immemorial year ; 
It was hard by the dim lake of Auber, 

In the misty mid region of Weir : 
It was down by the dank tarn of Auber, 

In the ghoul-haunted woodland of Weir. 

Here once, through an alley Titanic 

Of cypress, I roamed with my Soul — 
Of cypress, with Psyche, my Soul. 



ULALUME 31 

These were days when my heart was volcanic 

As the scoriae rivers that roll, 

As the lavas that restlessly roll 15 

Their sulphurous currents down Yaanek 

In the ultimate climes of the pole, 
That groan as they roll down Mount Yaanek 

In the realms of the boreal pole. 

Our talk had been serious and sober, 20 

But our thoughts they were palsied and sere. 
Our memories were treacherous and sere, 

For we knew not the month was October, 

And we marked not the night of the year, 

(Ah, night of all nights in the year !) 25 

We noted not the dim lake of Auber 

(Though once we had journeyed down here). 

Remembered not the dank tarn of Auber 

Nor the ghoul-haunted woodland of Weir. 

And now, as the night was senescent . 30 

And star-dials pointed to morn, 

As the star-dials hinted of morn. 
At the end of our path a liquescent 

And nebulous lustre was born. 
Out of which a miraculous crescent 35 

Arose with a duplicate horn, 
Astarte's bediamonded crescent 

Distinct with its duplicate horn. 

And I said — " She is warmer than Dian : 

She rolls through an ether of sighs, 40 

She revels in a region of sighs : 
She has seen that the tears are not dry on 

These cheeks, where the worm never dies, 



32 SELECTIONS FROM POE 

And has come past the stars of the Lion 
To pomt us the path to the skies, 
To the Lethean peace of the skies : 

Come up, in despite of the Lion, 

To shine on us with her bright eyes : 

Come up through the lair of the Lion, 
With love in her luminous eyes." 



But Psyche, uplifting her finger, 

Said — " Sadly this star I mistrust, 

Her pallor I strangely mistrust : 
Oh, hasten ! — oh, let us not linger ! 

Oh, fly ! — let us fly ! — for we must." 55 

In terror she spoke, letting sink her 

Wings until they trailed in the dust ; 
In agony sobbed, letting sink her 

Plumes till they trailed in the dust. 

Till they sorrowfully trailed in the dust. 60 

I replied — " This is nothing but dreaming : 

Let us on by this tremulous light ! 

Let us bathe in this crystalline light ! 
Its sibyllic splendor is beaming 

With hope and in beauty to-night : 65 

See, it flickers up the sky through the night ! 
Ah, we safely may trust to its gleaming. 

And be sure it will lead us aright : 
We safely may trust to a gleaming 

That cannot but guide us aright, 7° 

Since it flickers up to Heaven through the night." 

Thus I pacified Psyche and kissed her. 
And tempted her out of her gloom. 
And conquered her scruples and gloom ; 



TO 



33 



And we passed to the end of the vista, 75 

But were stopped by the door of a tomb, 

By the door of a legended tomb ; 
And I said — *' What is written, sweet sister, 

On the door of this legended tomb? " 

She replied — " Ulalume — Ulalume — 80 

'T is the vault of thy lost Ulalume ! " 

Then my heart it grew ashen and sober 

As the leaves that were crisped and sere. 
As the leaves that were withering and sere. 

And I cried — ''It was surely October 85 

On this very night of last year 
That I journeyed — I journeyed down here. 
That I brought a dread burden down here : 
On this night of all nights in the year, 
Ah, what demon has tempted me here? 90 

Well I know, now, this dim lake of Auber, 
This misty mid region of Weir : 

Well I know, now, this dank tarn of Auber, 
This ghoul-haunted woodland of Weir." 



TO 



Not long ago the writer of these lines, 

In the mad pride of intellectuality. 

Maintained " the power of words " — denied that ever 

A thought arose within the human brain 

Beyond the utterance of the human tongue : 5 

And now, as if in mockery of that boast. 

Two words, two foreign soft dissyllables, 

Italian tones, made only to be murmured 

By angels dreaming in the moonlit " dew 

That hangs like chains of pearl on Hermon hill," 10 



34 SELECTIONS FROM POE 

Have stirred from out the abysses of his heart 

Unthought-Hke thoughts, that are the souls of thought, — 

Richer, far wilder, far diviner visions 

Than even the seraph harper, Israfel 

(Who has " the sweetest voice of all God's creatures " ), 15 

Could hope to utter. And I — my spells are broken ; 

The pen falls powerless from my shivering hand ; 

With thy dear name as text, though bidden by thee, 

I cannot write — I cannot speak or think — 

Alas, I cannot feel ; for 't is not feeling, — 20 

This standing motionless upon the golden 

Threshold of the wide-open gate of dreams, 

Gazing entranced adown the gorgeous vista, 

And thrilling as I see, upon the right, 

Upon the left, and all the way along, 25 

Amid empurpled vapors, far away 

To where the prospect terminates — thee only. 



AN ENIGMA 

"Seldom we find," says Solomon Don Dunce, 

" Half an idea in the profoundest sonnet. 
Through all the flimsy things we see at once 
As easily as through a Naples bonnet — 
Trash of all trash ! how can a lady don it ? 
Yet heavier far than your Petrarchan stuff. 
Owl-downy nonsense that the faintest puff 

Twirls into trunk-paper the while you con it." 
And, veritably, Sol is right enough. 
The general tuckermanities are arrant 
Bubbles, ephemeral and so transparent ; 

But this is, now, you may depend upon it. 
Stable, opaque, immortal — all by dint 
Of the dear names that lie concealed within 't. 



TO HELEN 



TO HELEN 



35 



I saw thee once — once only — years ago : 

I must not say how many — but not many. 

It was a July midnight ; and from out 

A full-orbed moon, that, like thine own soul, soaring 

Sought a precipitate pathway up through heaven, 5 

There fell a silvery-silken veil of light, 

With quietude and sultriness and slumber. 

Upon the upturned faces of a thousand 

Roses that grew in an enchanted garden. 

Where no wind dared to stir, unless on tiptoe : lo 

Fell on the upturned faces of these roses 

That gave out, in return for the love-light, 

Their odorous souls in an ecstatic death : 

Fell on the upturned faces of these roses 

That smiled and died in this parterre, enchanted 15 

By thee, and by the poetry of thy presence. 

Clad all in white, upon a violet bank 

I saw thee half reclining ; while the moon 

Fell on the upturned faces of the roses, 

And on thine own, upturned — alas, in sorrow ! 20 

Was it not Fate, that, on this July midnight — 

Was it not Fate (whose name is also Sorrow) 

That bade me pause before that garden-gate 

To breathe the incense of those slumbering roses ? 

No footsteps stirred : the hated world all slept, 25 

Save only thee and me — O Heaven ! O God ! 

How my heart beats in coupling those two words ! — 

Save only thee and me, I paused, I looked, 

And in an instant all things disappeared. 

(Ah, bear in mind this garden was enchanted ! ) 3° 

The pearly lustre of the moon went out : 



36 SELECTIONS FROM POE 

The mossy banks and the meandering paths, 

The happy flowers and the repining trees, 

Were seen no more : the very roses' odors 

Died in the arms of the adoring airs. 35 

All, all expired save thee — save less than thou : 

Save only the divine light in thine eyes, 

Save but the soul in thine uplifted eyes : 

I saw but them — they were the world to me : 

I saw but them, saw only them for hours, 4° 

Saw only them until the moon went down. 

What wild heart-histories seem to lie enwritten 

Upon those crystalline, celestial spheres ; 

How dark a woe, yet how sublime a hope ; 

How silently serene a sea of pride ; 45 

How daring an ambition ; yet how deep. 

How fathomless a capacity for love ! 

But now, at length, dear Dian sank from sight. 

Into a western couch of thunder-cloud ; 

And thou, a ghost, amid the entombing trees 5° 

Didst glide away. Only thine eyes remained : 

They would not go — they never yet have gone ; 

Lighting my lonely pathway home that night. 

They have not left me (as my hopes have) since ; 

They follow me — they lead me through the years ; 55 

They are my ministers — yet I their slave ; 

Their office is to illumine and enkindle — 

My duty, to be saved by their bright light, 

And purified in their electric fire. 

And sanctified in their elysian fire, 6o 

They fill my soul with beauty (which is hope). 

And are, far up in heaven, the stars I kneel to 

In the sad, silent watches of my night ; 

While even in the meridian glare of day 

I see them still — two sweetly scintillant 65 

Venuses, unextinguished by the sun. 



FOR ANNIE 37 

A VALENTINE 

For her this rhyme is penned, whose luminous eyes, 

Brightly expressive as the twins of Leda, 
Shall find her own sweet name, that nestling lies 

Upon the page, enwrapped from every reader. 
Search narrowly the lines ! they hold a treasure 5 

Divine, a talisman, an amulet 
That must be worn at heart. Search well the measure — 

The words — the syllables. Do not forget 
The trivialest point, or you may lose your labor : 

And yet there is in this no Gordian knot lo 

Which one might not undo without a sabre, 

If one could merely comprehend the plot. 
Enwritten upon the leaf where now are peering 

Eyes scintillating soul, there lie perdus 
Three eloquent words oft uttered in the hearing 15 

Of poets, by poets — as the name is a poet's, too. 
Its letters, although naturally lying 

Like the knight Pinto, Mendez Ferdinando, 
Still form a synonym for Truth. — Cease trying ! 

You will not read the riddle, though you do the best you 
can do. 20 

FOR ANNIE 

Thank Heaven ! the crisis. 

The danger, is past, 
And the lingering illness 

Is over at last. 
And the fever called " Living " 5 

Is conquered at last. 

Sadly I know 

I am shorn of my strength, 
And no muscle I move 

As I lie at full length : 10 



38 SELECTIONS FROM POE 

But no matter ! — I feel 
I am better at length. 

And I rest so composedly 

Now, in my bed, 
That any beholder 15 

Might fancy me dead, 
Might start at beholding me, 

Thinking me dead. 

The moaning and groaning. 

The sighing and sobbing, 20 

Are quieted now, 

With that horrible throbbing 
At heart : — ah, that horrible, 

Horrible throbbing ! 

The sickness, the nausea, 25 

The pitiless pain. 
Have ceased, with the fever 

That maddened my brain. 
With the fever called " Living " 

That burned in my brain. 30 

And oh ! of all tortures. 

That torture the worst 
Has abated — the terrible 

Torture of thirst 
For the naphthaline river 35 

Of Passion accurst : 
I have drank of a water 

That quenches all thirst : 

Of a water that flows. 

With a lullaby sound, 4° 



FOR ANNIE 39 

From a spring but a very few 

Feet under ground, 
From a cavern not very far 

Down under ground. 

And ah ! let it never 45 

Be foolishly said 
That my room it is gloomy, 

And narrow my bed ; 
For man never slept 

In a different bed : 50 

And, to sleep, you must slumber 

In just such a bed. 

My tantalized spirit 

Here blandly reposes, 
Forgetting, or never 55 

Regretting, its roses : 
Its old agitations 

Of myrtles and roses ; 

For now, while so quietly 

Lying, it fancies 60 

A holier odor 

About it, of pansies : 
A rosemary odor. 

Commingled with pansies. 
With rue and the beautiful 65 

Puritan pansies. 

And so it lies happily, 

Bathing in many 
A dream of the truth 

And the beauty of Annie, 7° 

Drowned in a bath 

Of the tresses of Annie. 



40 SELECTIONS FROM POE 

She tenderly kissed me, 

She fondly caressed, 
And then I fell gently 75 

To sleep on her breast, 
Deeply to sleep 

From the heaven of her breast. 

When the light was extinguished, 

She covered me warm, 80 

And she prayed to the angels 
To keep me from harm. 

To the queen of the angels 
To shield me from harm. 

And I lie so composedly 85 

Now, in my bed, 
(Knowing her love) 

That you fancy me dead ; 
And I rest so contentedly 

Now, in my bed, 9° 

(With her love at my breast) 

That you fancy me dead, 
That you shudder to look at me, 

Thinking me dead. 

But my heart it is brighter 95 

Than all of the many 
Stars in the sky. 

For it sparkles with Annie : 
It glows with the light 

Of the love of my Annie, 100 

With the thought of the light 

Qf the eyes of my Annie, 



THE BELLS 41 

THE BELLS 

I 

Hear the sledges with the bells, 

Silver bells ! 

What a world of merriment their melody foretells ! 

How they tinkle, tinkle, tinkle. 

In the icy air of night ! 5 

While the stars, that oversprinkle 
All the heavens, seem to twinkle 
With a crystalline delight ; 
Keeping time, time, time, 
In a sort of Runic rhyme, 10 

To the tintinnabulation that so musically wells 
From the bells, bells, bells, bells. 
Bells, bells, bells — 
From the jingling and the tinkHng of the bells. 



Hear the mellow wedding bells, 15 

Golden bells ! 
What a world of happiness their harmony foretells ! 
Through the balmy air of night 
How they ring out their delight ! 

From the molten-golden notes, 20 

And all in tune, 
What a liquid ditty floats 
To the turtle-dove that listens, while she gloats 
On the moon ! 
Oh, from out the sounding cells, 25 

What a gush of euphony voluminously wells ! 
How it swells ! 
How it dwells 
On the Future ! how it tells 
Of the rapture that impels 30 



42 SELECTIONS FROM POE 

To the swinging and the ringing 

Of the bells, bells, bells, 
Of the bells, bells, bells, bells, 
Bells, bells, bells — 
To the rhyming and the chiming of the bells ! 35 

III 

Hear the loud alarum bells, 
Brazen bells ! 
What a tale of terror, now, their turbulency tells ! 
In the startled ear of night 

How they scream out their affright ! 40 

Too much horrified to speak, 
They can only shriek, shriek. 
Out of tune, 
In a clamorous appealing to the mercy of the fire. 
In a mad expostulation with the deaf and frantic fire, 45 
Leaping higher, higher, higher. 
With a desperate desire. 
And a resolute endeavor 
Now — now to sit or never. 
By the side of the pale-faced moon. 5° 

Oh, the bells, bells, bells ! 
What a tale their terror tells 
Of Despair ! 
How they clang, and clash, and roar ! 
What a horror they outpour 55 

On the bosom of the palpitating air ! 
Yet the ear it fully knows, 
By the twanging 
And the clanging, 
How the danger ebbs and flows ; 60 

Yet the ear distinctly tells. 
In the jangling 
And the wrangling. 



THE BELLS 43 

How the danger sinks and swells, — 64 

By the sinking or the swelling in the anger of the bells, 
Of the bells, 
Of the bells, bells, bells, bells. 
Bells, bells, bells — 
In the clamor and the clangor of the bells ! 

IV 

Hear the tolling of the bells, 7° 

Iron bells ! 
What a world of solemn thought their monody compels ! 
In the silence of the night 
How we shiver with affright 
At the melancholy menace of their tone ! 75 

For every sound that floats 
From the rust within their throats 

Is a groan. 
And the people — ah, the people, 
They that dwell up in the steeple, 80 

All alone, 
And who tolling, tolling, toUing 

In that muffled monotone, 
Feel a glory in so rolling 

On the human heart a stone — 85 

They are neither man nor woman, 
They are neither brute nor human, 
They are Ghouls : 
And their king it is who tolls ; 
And he rolls, rolls, rolls, . 90 

Rolls 
A paean from the bells ; 
And his merry bosom swells 

With the paean of the bells. 
And he dances, and he yells : 95 

Keeping time, time, time, 
In a sort of Runic rhyme. 



44 SELECTIONS FROM POE 

To the paean of the bells, 
Of the bells : 
Keeping time, time, time, loo 

In a sort of Runic rhyme. 

To the throbbing of the bells, 
Of the bells, bells, bells — 

To the sobbing of the bells ; 
Keeping time, time, time, 105 

As he knells, knells, knells, 
In a happy Runic rhyme, 

To the rolling of the bells, 
Of the bells, bells, bells : 

To the tolling of the bells, no 

Of the bells, bells, bells, bells. 
Bells, bells, bells — 
To the moaning and the groaning of the bells. 



ANNABEL LEE 

It was many and many a year ago, 

In a kingdom by the sea. 
That a maiden there lived whom you may know 

By the name of Annabel Lee ; 
And this maiden she lived with no other thought 

Than to love and be loved by me. 

I was a child and she was a child, 

In this kingdom by the sea. 
But we loved with a love that was more than love, 

I and my Annabel Lee ; 
With a love that the winged seraphs of heaven 

Coveted her and me. 

And this was the reason that, long ago, 
In this kingdom by the sea. 



ANNABEL LEE 45 

A wind blew out of a cloud, chilling 15 

My beautiful Annabel Lee ; 
So that her highborn kinsmen came 

And bore her away from me, 
To shut her up in a sepulchre 

In this kingdom by the sea. 20 

The angels, not half so happy in heaven, 

Went envying her and me ; 
Yes ! that was the reason (as all men know, 

In this kingdom by the sea) 
That the wind came out of the cloud by night, 25 

Chilling and killing my Annabel Lee. 

But our love it was stronger by far than the love 

Of those who were older than we, 

Of many far wiser than we ; 
And neither the angels in heaven above, 3° 

Nor the demons down under the sea. 
Can ever dissever my soul from the soul 

Of the beautiful Annabel Lee : 

For the moon never beams, without bringing me dreams 

Of the beautiful Annabel Lee ; 35 

And the stars never rise, but I feel the bright eyes 

Of the beautiful Annabel Lee ; 
And so, all the night-tide, I lie down by the side 
Of my darling — my darling — my life and my bride. 

In her sepulchre there by the sea, 40 

In her tomb by the sounding sea. 



46 SELECTIONS FROM POE 

TO MY MOTHER 

Because I feel that, in the Heavens above, 

The angels, whispering to one another, 
Can find among their burning terms of love — 

None so devotional as that of " Mother," 
Therefore by that dear name I long have called you — 5 

You vsiho are more than mother unto me. 
And fill my heart of hearts where Death installed you 

In setting my Virginia's spirit free. 
My mother, my own mother, who died early, 

Was but the mother of myself ; but you lo 

Are mother to the one I loved so dearly. 

And thus are dearer than the mother I knew 
By that infinity with which my wife 
Was dearer to my soul than its soul-life. 



ELDORADO 

Gayly bedight, 

A gallant knight, 
In sunshine and in shadow. 

Had journeyed long, 

Singing a song, 5 

In search of Eldorado. 

But he grew old, 

This knight so bold. 
And o'er his heart a shadow 

Fell as he found lo 

No spot of ground 
That looked Hke Eldorado. 



ELDORADO 47 

And, as his strength 

Failed him at length, 
He met a pilgrim shadow : 15 

"Shadow," said he, 

" Where can it be. 
This land of Eldorado?" 

" Over the Mountains 

Of the Moon, 20 

Down the Valley of the Shadow, 

Ride, boldly ride," 

The shade replied, 
" If you seek for Eldorado ! " 



TALES 



THE FALL OF THE HOUSE OF USHER 

Son coeur est un luth suspendu ; 
Sitot qu'on le touche il resonne. 

Beranger 

During the whole of a dull, dark, and soundless day in the 
autumn of the year, when the clouds hung oppressively low in 
the heavens, I had been passing alone, on horseback, through 
a singularly dreary tract of country ; and at length found my- 
self, as the shades of the evening drew on, within view of the 5 
melancholy House of Usher. I know not how it was— t but, 
with the first ghmpse of the building, a sense of insufferable 
gloom pervaded my spirit^ I say insufferable ; for the feeling 
was unrelieved by any of that half- pleasurable, because poetic, 
sentiment with which the mind usually receives even the stern- 10 
est natural images of the desolate or terrible. I looked upon 
the scene before me — upon the mere house, and the simple 
landscape features of the domain, upon the bleak. walls, upon 
the vacant eye-like windows, upon a few rank sedges, and 
upon a few white trunks of decayed trees^ — with an utter 15 
depression of soul which I can compare to no earthly sensa- 
tion more properly than to the after-dream of the reveller 
upon opium : the bitter lapse into everyday life, the hideous 
dropping off of the veil. There was an jciness, a sinking, a 
sickening of the heart, an unredeemed dreariness of thought 20 
which no goading of the imagination could torture into aught 
of the subhme. What was it — I paused to think — what was 
it that so unnerved me in the contemplation of the House of 

49 



50 SELECTIONS FROM POE 

Usher? It was a mystery all insoluble ; nor could I grapple 
with the shadowy fancies that crowded upon me as I pondered. 
I was forced to fall back upon the unsatisfactory conclusion, 
that while, beyond doubt, there are combinations of very 
5 simple natural objects which have the power of thus affecting 
us, still the analysis of this power lies among considerations 
beyond our depth. It was possible, I reflected, that a mere 
different arrangement of the particulars of the scene, of the 
details of the picture, would be sufficient to modify, or per- 

lo haps to annihilate, its capacity for sorrowful impression ; and 
acting upon this idea, I reined my horse to the precipitous 
brink of a black and lurid tarn that lay in unruffled lustre by 
the dwelling, and gazed down — but with a shudder even 
more thrilling than before — upon the remodelled and inverted 

15 images of the gray sedge, and the ghastly tree-stems, and the 
vacant and eye-like windows. 

Nevertheless, in this mansion of gloom I now proposed to 
myself a sojourn of some weeks. Its proprietor, Roderick 
Usher, had been one of my boon companions in boyhood; 

20 but many years had elapsed since our last meeting. A letter, 
however, had lately reached me in a distant part of the 
country — a letter from him — which in its wildly importu- 
nate nature had admitted of no other than a personal reply. 
The MS. gave evidence of nervous agitation. The writer 

25 spoke of acute bodily illness, of a mental disorder which 
oppressed him, and of an earnest desire to see me, as his 
best and indeed his only personal friend, with a view of 
attempting, by the cheerfulness of my society, some allevia- 
tion of his malady. It was the manner in which all this, and 

30 much more, was said — it was the apparent heart that went 
with his request — which allowed me no room for hesitation; 
and I accordingly obeyed forthwith what I still considered a 
very singular summons. 

Although as boys we had been even intimate associates, 

35 yet I really knew little of my friend. His reserve had been 



THE FALL OF THE HOUSE OF USHER 51 

always excessive and habitual. I was aware, however, that 
his very ancient family had been noted, time out of mind, 
for a peculiar sensibihty of temperament, displaying itself, 
through long ages, in many works of exalted art, and mani- 
fested of late in repeated deeds of munificent yet unobtru- 5 
sive charity, as well as in a passionate devotion to the intrica- 
cies, perhaps even more than to the orthodox and easily 
recognizable beauties, of musical science. I had learned, too, 
the very remarkable fact that the stem of the Usher race, all 
time-honored as it was, had put forth at no period any endur- 10 
ing branch ; in other words, that the entire family lay in the 
direct line of descent, and had always, with very trifling and 
very temporary variation, so lain. It was this deficiency, I 
considered, while running over in thought the perfect keep- 
ing of the character of the premises with the accredited 15 
character of the people, and while speculating upon the pos- 
sible influence which the one, in the long lapse of centuries, 
might have exercised upon the other — it was this deficiency, 
perhaps, of collateral issue, and the consequent undeviating 
transmission from sire to son of the patrimony with the name, 20 
which had, at length, so identified the two as to merge the 
original title of the estate in the quaint and equivocal appel- 
lation of the " House of Usher " — an appellation which 
seemed to include, in the minds of the peasantry who used 
it, both the family and the family mansion. 25 

I have said that the sole effect of my somewhat childish 
experiment, that of looking down within the tarn, had been 
to deepen the first singular impression. There can be no 
doubt that the consciousness of the rapid increase of my 
superstition — for why should I not so term it? — served 30 
mainly to accelerate the increase itself. Such, I have long 
known, is the paradoxical law of all sentiments having terror 
as a basis. And it might have been for this reason only, that, 
when r again uplifted my eyes to the house itself, from its 
image in the pool, there grew in my mind a strange fancy — 35 



52 SELECTIONS FROM POE 

a fancy so ridiculous, indeed, that I but mention it to show 
the vivid force of the sensations which oppressed me. I had 
so worked upon my imagination as really to believe that 
about the whole mansion and domain there hung an atmos- 
5 phere pecuHar to themselves and their immediate vicinity : 
an atmosphere which had no affinity with the air of heaven, 
but which had reeked up from the decayed trees, and the 
gray wall, and the silent tarn : a pestilent and mystic vapor, 
dull, sluggish, faintly discernible, and leaden-hued. 

10 Shaking off from my spirit what must have been a dream, I 
scanned more narrowly the real aspect of the building. Its 
principal feature seemed to be that of an excessive antiquity. 
The discoloration of ages had been great. Minute fungi 
overspread the whole exterior, hanging in a fine tangled web- 

15 work from the eaves. Yet all this was apart from any extraor- 
dinary dilapidation. No portion of the masonry had fallen ; 
and there appeared to be a wild inconsistency between its 
still perfect adaptation of parts and the crumbling condition 
of the individual stones. In this there was much that re- 

20 minded one of the specious totality of old wood-work which 
has rotted for long years in some neglected vault, with no 
disturbance from the breath of the external air. Beyond this 
indication of extensive decay, however, the fabric gave little 
token of instability. Perhaps the eye of a scrutinizing observer 

25 might have discovered a barely perceptible fissure, which, 
extending from the roof of the building in front, made its 
way down the wall in a zigzag direction, until it became lost 
in the sullen waters of the tarn. 

Noticing these things, I rode over a short causeway to the 

30 house. A servant in waiting took my horse, and I entered the 
Gothic archway of the hall. A valet, of stealthy step, thence 
conducted me, in silence, through many dark and intricate 
passages in my progress to the studio of his master. Much 
that I encountered on the way contributed, I know not how, 

35 to heighten the vague sentiments of which I have already 



THE FALL OF THE HOUSE OF USHER 



53 



spoken. While the objects around me — while the carvings 
of the ceilings, the sombre tapestries of the walls, the ebon 
blackness of the floors, and the phantasmagoric armorial 
trophies which rattled as I strode, were but matters to which, 
or to such as which, I had been accustomed from my infancy 5 
— while I hesitated not to acknowledge how familiar was all 
this — I still wondered to find how unfamiliar were the fancies 
which ordinary images were stirring up. On one of the stair- 
cases, I met the physician of the family. His countenance, I 
thought, wore a mingled expression of low cunning and per- 10 
plexity. He accosted me with trepidation and passed on. 
The valet now threw open a door and ushered me into the 
presence of his master. 

The room in which I found myself was very large and 
lofty. The windows were long, narrow, and pointed, and at 15 
so vast a distance from the black oaken floor as to be alto- 
gether inaccessible from within. Feeble gleams of encrim- 
soned light made their way through the trellised panes, and 
served to render sufficiently distinct the more prominent 
objects around ; the eye, however, struggled in vain to reach 20 
the remoter angles of the chamber, or the recesses of the 
vaulted and fretted ceiling. Dark draperies hung upon the 
walls. The general furniture was profuse, comfortless, antique, 
and tattered. Many books and musical instruments lay scat- 
tered about, but failed to give any vitality to the scene. I felt 25 
that I breathed an atmosphere of sorrow. An air of stern, 
deep, and irredeemable gloom hung over and pervaded all. 

Upon my entrance. Usher arose from a sofa on which he 
had been lying at full length, and greeted me with a vivacious 
warmth which had much in it, I at first thought, of an over- 30 
done cordiality — of the constrained effort of the ennuye man 
of the^world. A glance, however, at his countenance, con- 
vinced me of his perfect sincerity. We sat down ; and for 
some moments, while he spoke not, I gazed upon him with a 
feeling half of pity, half of awe. Surely man had never before 35 



54 SELECTIONS FROM POE 

so terribly altered, in so brief a period, as had Roderick 
Usher ! It was with difficulty that I could bring myself to 
admit the identity of the wan being before me with the com- 
panion of my early boyhood. Yet the character of his face 
5 had been at all times remarkable. A cadaverousness of com- 
plexion ; an eye large, liquid, and luminous beyond compari- 
son ; lips somewhat thin and very pallid, but of a surpassingly 
beautiful curve ; a nose of a delicate Hebrew model, but with 
a breadth of nostril unusual in similar formations ; a finely 

lo moulded chin, speaking, in its want of prominence, of a want 
of moral energy ; hair of a more than web.-like softness and 
tenuity; these features, "with an inordinate expansion'ab^ve 
the regions of the temple, made up altogether a countenance 
not easily to be forgotten. And now in the mere exaggera- 

15 tion of the prevailing character of these features, and of the 
expression they were wont to convey, lay so much of change 
that I doubted to whom I spoke. The now ghastly pallor of 
the skin, and the now miraculous lustre of the eye, above all 
things startled and even awed me. The silken hair, too, had 

20 been suffered to grow all unheeded, and as, in its wild gos- 
samer texture, it floated rather than fell about the face, I 
could not, even with effort, connect its arabesque expression 
with any idea of simple humanity. 

In the manner of my friend I was at once struck with an 

25 incoherence, an inconsistency ; and I soon found this to arise 
from a series of feeble and futile struggles to overcome an 
habitual trepidancy, an excessive nervous agitation. For some- 
thing of this nature I had indeed been prepared, no less by his 
letter than by reminiscences of certain boyish traits, and by 

30 conclusions deduced from his peculiar physical conformation 
and temperament. His action was alternately vivacious and 
sullen. His voice varied rapidly from a tremulous indecision 
(when the animal spirits seemed utterly in abeyance) to that 
species of energetic concision — that abrupt, weighty, unhurried, 

35 and hollow-sounding enunciation — that leaden, self-balanced 



THE FALL OF THE HOUSE OF USHER 55 

and perfectly modulated guttural utterance — which may be 
observed in the lost drunkard, or the irreclaimable eater of 
opium, during the periods of his most intense excitement. 

It was thus that he spoke of the object of my visit, of his 
earnest desire to see me, and of the solace he expected me to 5 
afford him. He entered, at some length, into what he con- 
ceived to be the nature of his malady. It was, he said, a con- 
stitutional and a family evil, and one for which he despaired 
to find a remedy — a mere nervous affection, he immediately 
added, which would undoubtedly soon pass off. It displayed 10 
itself in a host of unnatural sensations. Some of these, as he 
detailed them, interested and bewildered me ; although, per- 
haps, the terms and the general manner of the narration had 
their weight. He suffered much from a morbid acuteness of the 
senses; the most insipid food w^as alone endurable ; he could 15 
wear only garments of certain texture ; the odors of all flowers 
were oppressive ; his eyes were tortured by even a faint light ; 
and there were but peculiar sounds, and these from stringed 
instruments, which did not inspire him with horror. 

To an anomalous species of terror I found him a bounden 20 
slave. " I shall perish," said he, " I must perish in this deplor- 
able folly. Thus, thus, and not otherwise, shall I be lost. I 
dread the events of the future, not in themselves, but in their 
results. I shudder at the thought of any, even the most trivial, 
incident, w^hich may operate upon this intolerable agitation of 25 
soul. I have, indeed, no abhorrence of danger, except in its 
absolute effect — in terror. In this unnerved — in this pitiable 
condition, I feel that the period will sooner or later arrive when 
I must abandon life and reason together, in some struggle with 
the grim phantasm, Fear." 30 

I learned moreover at intervals, and through broken and 
equivocal hints, another singular feature of his mental condi- 
tion. He was enchained by certain superstitious impressions 
in regard to the dwelling which he tenanted, and whence, for 
many years, he had never ventured forth — in regard to an 35 



56 SELECTIONS FROM POE 

influence whose supposititious force was conveyed in terms 
too shadowy here to be re-stated — an influence which some 
peculiarities in the mere form and substance of his family 
mansion, had, by dint of long sufferance, he said, obtained 
5 over his spirit — an effect which the physique of the gray walls 
and turrets, and of the dim tarn into which they all looked 
down, had, at length, brought about upon the morale of his 
existence, . 

He admitted, however, although with hesitation, that much 

10 of the peculiar gloom which thus afflicted him could be traced 
to a more natural and far more palpable origin — to the severe 
and long-continued illness, indeed to the evidently approaching 
dissolution, of a tenderly beloved sister — his sole companion 
for long years, his last and only relative on earth. " Her 

15 decease," he said, with a bitterness which I can never forget, 
*' would leave him (him the hopeless and the frail) the last of 
the ancient race of the Ushers." While he spoke, the lady 
Madeline (for so was she called) passed slowly through a 
remote portion of the apartment, and, without having noticed 

20 my presence, disappeared. I regarded her with an utter . 
astonishment not unmingled with dread, and yet I found it 
impossible to account for such feelings. A sensation of stupor 
oppressed me, as my eyes followed her retreating steps. 
When a door, at length, closed upon her, my glance sought. 

25 instinctively and eagerly the countenance of the brother ; but 

he had buried his face in his hands, and I could only perceive 

that a far more than ordinary wanness had overspread the 

emaciated fingers through which trickled many passionate tears. 

The disease of the lady Madeline had long baffled the skill 

30 of her physicians. A settled apathy, a gradual wasting away of 
the person, and frequent although transient affections of a 
partially cataleptical character, were the unusual diagnosis. 
Hitherto she had steadily borne up against the pressure of her 
malady, and had not betaken herself finally to bed ; but, on 

35 the closing in of the evening of my arrival at the house, she 



THE FALL OF THE HOUSE OF USHER 57 

succumbed (as her brother told me at night with inexpressible 
agitation) to the prostrating power of the destroyer ; and I 
learned that the glimpse I had obtained of her person would 
thus probably be the last I should obtain — that the lady, at 
least while living, would be seen by me no more. 5 

For several days ensuing, her name was unmentioned by 
either Usher or myself ; and during this period I was busied 
in earnest endeavors to alleviate the melancholy of my friend. 
We painted and read together; or I Fistened, as if in a dream, 
to the wild improvisations of his speaking guitar. And thus, 10 
as a closer and still closer intimacy admitted me more unre- 
servedly into the recesses of his spirit, the more bitterly did I 
perceive the futility of all attempt at cheering a mind from 
which darkness^ as if an inherent positive quality, poured forth 
upon all objects of the moral and physical universe, in one 15 
unceasing radiation of gloom. 

I shall ever bear about me a memory of the many solemn 
hours I thus spent alone with the master of the House of 
Usher. Yet I should fail in any attempt to convey an idea of 
the exact character of the studies, or of the occupations, in 20 
which he involved me, or led me the way. An excited and 
highly distempered ideality threw a sulphureous lustre over all. 
His long improvised dirges will ring forever in ray ears. 
Among other things, I hold painfully in mind a certain singu- 
lar perversion and amplification of the wild air of the 13^-25 
:5^1tz of Von Weber. From the paintings over which his elabo- 
rate fancy brooded, and which grew, touch by touch, into 
vaguenesses at which I shuddered the more thrillingly because 
I shuddered knowing not why; — from these paintings (vivid 
as their images now are before me) I would in vain endeavor 30 
to educe more than a small portion which should lie within the 
compass of merely wTitten words. By the utter simplicity, by 
the nakedness of his designs, he arrested and overawed atten- 
tion. If ever mortal painted an idea, that mortal was Roderick 
Usher. For me at least, in the circumstances then surrounding 35 



58 SELECTIONS FROM POE 

me, there arose, out of the pure abstractions which the hypo- 
chondriac contrived to throw upon his canvas, an intensity 
of intolerable awe, no shadow of which felt I ever yet in the 
contemplation of the certainly glowing yet too concrete rev- 
5 eries of Fuseli. 

One of the phantasmagoric conceptions of my friend, par- 
taking not so rigidly of the spirit of abstraction, may be 
shadowed forth, although feebly, in words. A small picture 
presented the interior of an immensely long and rectangular 

10 vault or tunnel, M'ith low walls, smooth, white, and without 
interruption or device. Certain accessory points of the design 
served well to convey the idea that this excavation lay at an 
exceeding depth below the surface of the earth. No outlet 
was observed in any portion of its vast extent, and no torch or 

15 other artificial source of light was discernible ; yet a flood of 
intense rays rolled throughout, and bathed the whole in a 
ghastly and inappropriate splendor. 

I have just spoken of that morbid condition of the auditory 
nerve which rendered all music intolerable to the sufferer, with 

20 the exception of certain effects of stringed instruments. It 
was, perhaps, the narrow hmits to which he thus confined him- 
self upon the guitar, which gave birth, in great measure, to the 
fantastic character of his performances. But the i^XNifl facility 
of his impromptus could not be so accounted for. They must 

25 have been, and were, in the notes, as well as in the words of 
his wild fantasias (for he not unfrequently accompanied him- 
self with rhymed verbal improvisations), the result of that 
intense mental collectedness and concentration to which I have 
previously alluded as observable only in particular moments of 

30 the highest artificial excitement. The words of one of these 
rhapsodies I have easily remembered. I was, perhaps, the 
more forcibly impressed with it, as he gave it, because, in the 
under or mystic current of its meaning, I fancied that I per- 
ceived, and for the first time, a full consciousness, on the part 

35 of Usher, of the tottering of his lofty reason upon her throne. 



THE FALL OF THE HOUSE OF USHER 59 

The verses, which were entitled ''The Haunted Palace," ran 
very nearly, if not accurately, thus : — 



In the greenest of our valleys 

By good angels tenanted, 
Once a fair and stately palace — 5 

Radiant palace — reared its head. 
In the monarch Thought's dominion, 

It stood there ; 
Never seraph spread a pinion 

Over fabric half so fair. 10 

II 

Banners yellow, glorious, golden. 

On its roof did float and flow, 
(This — all this — was in the olden 

Time long ago) 
And every gentle air that dallied, 15 

In that sweet day, 
Along the ramparts plumed and pallid, 

A winged odor went away. 

Ill 

Wanderers in that happy valley 

Through two luminous windows saw 20 

Spirits moving musically 

To a lute's well-tuned law. 
Round about a throne where, sitting, 

Porphyrogene, 
In state his glory well befitting, 25 

The ruler of the realm was seen. 

IV 

And all with pearl and ruby glowing 

Was the fair palace door, 
Through which came flowing, flowing, flowing. 

And sparkling evermore, 3'^ 



6o SELECTIONS FROM POE 

A troop of Echoes whose sweet duty 

Was but to sing, 
In voices of surpassing beauty, 

The wit and wisdom of their kine. 



But evil things, in robes of sorrow, 

Assailed the monarch's high estate 
(Ah, let us mourn, for never morrow 

Shall dawn upon him, desolate !) 
And round about his home the glory 

That blushed and bloomed 
Is but a dim-remembered story 

Of the old time entombed. 



VI 

And travellers now within that valley 
Through the red-litten windows see 
jc Vast forms that move fantastically 

To a discordant melody ; 
While, like a ghastly rapid river. 

Through the pale door 
A hideous throng rush out forever, 
20 And laugh — but smile no more. 

I well remember that suggestions arising from this ballad 
led us into a train of thought, w^herein there became manifest 
an opinion of Usher's which I mention not so much on account 
of its novelty, (for other men ^ have thought thus,) as on ac- 
2q count of the pertinacity with which he maintained it. This 
opinion, in its general form, was that of the sentience of all 
vegetable things. But in his disordered fancy the idea had 
assumed a more daring character, and trespassed, under certain 
conditions, upon the kingdom of inorganization. I lack words 

1 Watson, Dr. Percival, Spallanzani, and especially the Bishop of 
Landaff. — See "Chemical Essays," Vol. V. 



THE FALL OF THE HOUSE OF USHER 6l 

to express the full extent, or the earnest abandon of his 
persuasion. The belief, however, was connected (as I have pre- 
viously hinted) with the gray stones of the home of his fore- 
fathers. The conditions of the sentience had been here, he 
imagined, fulfilled in the method of collocation of these stones 5 
^^ in the order of their arrangement, as well as in that of the 
/many fungi which overspread them, and of the decayed trees 
which stood around — above all, in the long undisturbed en- 
durance of this arrangement, and in its reduplication in the 
still waters of the tarn. Its evidence — the evidence of the 10 
sentience — was to be seen, he said (and I here started as he 
spoke), in the gradual yet certain condensation of an atmos- 
phere of their own about the waters and the walls. The result 
was discoverable, he added, in that silent, yet importunate 
and terrible influence which for centuries had moulded the 15 
destinies of his family, and which made him what I now saw 
him — what he was. Such opinions need no comment, and I 
will make none. 

Our books — the books which, for years, had formed no 
small portion of the mental existence of the invalid — were, 20 
as might be supposed, in strict keeping with this character of 
phantasm. We pored together over such works as the Ververt 
and Chartreuse of Cresset ; the Belphegor of Machiavelli ; 
the Heaven and Hell of Swedenborg; the Subterranean 
Voyage of Nicholas Klimm by Holberg; the Chiromancy of 25 
Robert Flud, of Jean DTndagine, and of De la Chambre ; the 
Journey into the Blue Distance of Tieck ; and the City of the 
Sun of Campanella. One favorite volume was a small octavo 
edition of the Directorium Inquisitorum, by the Dominican 
Eymeric de Gironne; and there were passages in Pomporiius 30 
Mela, about the old African Satyrs and ^Egipans, over which 
Usher would sit dreaming for hours. His chief delight, however, 
was found in the perusal of an exceedingly rare and curious book 
in quarto Gothic — the manual of a forgotten church — the 
Vigilice Mortuoriim secundum Chorum Ecclesice. Maguntince. 35 



62 SELECTIONS FROM POE 

I could not help thinking of the wild ritual of this work, 
and of its probable influence upon the hypochondriac, when 
one evening, having informed me abruptly that the lady 
Madeline was no more, he stated his intention of preserving 
5 her corpse for a fortnight, (previously to its final interment,) in 
one of the numerous vaults within the main walls of the build- 
ing. The worldly reason, however, assigned for this singular 
proceeding, was one which I did not feel at liberty to dis- 
pute. The brother had been led to his resolution (so he told 

lo me) by consideration of the unusual character of the malady 
of the deceased, of certain obtrusive and eager inquiries on 
the part of her medical men, and of the remote and exposed 
situation of the burial-ground of the family. I will not deny 
that when I called to mind the sinister countenance of the 

15 person whom I met upon the staircase, on the day of my 
arrival at the house, I had no desire to oppose what I regarded 
as at best but a harmless, and by no means an unnatural, 
precaution. 

At the request of Usher, I personally aided him in the 

20 arrangements for the temporary entombment. The body 
having been encofflned, we two alone bore it to its rest. The 
vault in which we placed it (and which had been so long un- 
opened that our torches, half smothered in its oppressive 
atmosphere, gave us little opportunity for investigation) was 

25 small, damp, and entirely without means of admission for light ; 
lying, at great depth, immediately beneath that portion of the 
building in which was my own sleeping apartment.' It had 
been used, apparently, in remote feudal times, for the worst 
purposes of a donjon-keep, and in later days as a place of 

30 deposit for powder, or some other highly combustible sub- 
stance, as a portion of its floor, and the whole interior of a 
long archway through which we reached it, were carefully 
sheathed with copper. The door, of massive iron, had been, 
also, similarly protected. Its immense weight caused an un- 

35 usually sharp grating sound, as it moved upon its hinges. 



THE FALL OF THE HOUSE OF USHER 63 

Having deposited our mournful burden upon tressels within 
this region of horror, we partially turned aside the yet un- 
screwed lid of the coffin, and looked upon the face of the 
tenant. A striking similitude between the brother and sister 
now first arrested my attention ; and Usher, divining, perhaps, 5 
my thoughts, murmured out some few words from which I 
learned that the deceased and himself had been twins, and 
that sympathies of a scarcely intelligible nature had always 
existed between them. Our glances, however, rested not long 
upon the dead — for we could not regard her unawed. The 10 
disease which had thus entombed the lady in the maturity of 
youth, had left, as usual in all maladies of a strictly catalepliedl: — ' 
character, the mockery of a faint blush upon the bosom and 
the face, and that suspiciously lingering smile upon the lip 
which is so terrible in death. We replaced and screwed down 15 
the lid, and, having secured the door of iron, made our way, 
with toil, into the scarcely less gloomy apartments of the upper 
portion of the house. 

And now, some days of bitter grief having elapsed, an 
observable change came over the features of the mental dis- 20 
order of my friend. His ordinary manner had vanished. His 
ordinary occupations were neglected or forgotten. He roamed 
from chamber to chamber with hurried, unequal, and object- 
less step. The pallor of his countenance had assumed, if 
possible, a more ghastly hue — but the luminousness of his 25 
eye had utterly gone out/ The once occasional huskiness of 
his tone was heard no more ; and a tremulous quaver, as if of 
extreme terror, habitually characterized his utterance. There 
were times, indeed, when I thought his unceasingly agitated 
mind was laboring with some oppressive secret, to divulge 30 
which he struggled for the necessary courage. At times, again, 
I was obliged to resolve all into the mere inexphcable vagaries 
of madness, for I beheld him gazing upon vacancy for long 
hours, in an attitude of the profoundest attention, as if listening 
to some imaginary sound. It was no wonder that his condition 35 



64 SELECTIONS FROM POE 

terrified — that it infected me. I felt creeping upon me, by 
slow yet certain degrees, the wild influences of his own fantas- 
tic yet impressive superstitions. 

It was, especially, upon retiring to bed late in the night of 
S the seventh or eighth day after the placing of the lady Madeline 
within the donjon, that I experienced the full power of such 
feelings. Sleep came not near my couch, while the hours 
waned and waned away. I struggled to reason off the nervous- 
ness which had dominion over me. 1 1 endeavored to believe 

lo that much, if not all, of what I felt was due to the bewilder- 
ing influence of the gloomy furniture of the room — of the 
dark and tattered draperies which, tortured into motion by 

/ the breath of a rising tempest,\swayed fitfully to and fro upon 
^''^the walls, and rustled uneasily about the decorations of the 

15 bed. But my efforts were fruitless. An irrepressible tremor 
gradually pervaded my frame ; and at length there sat upon 
my very heart an incubus of utterly causeless alarm. Shaking 
this off with a gasp and a struggle, I uplifted myself upon the 
pillows, and, peering earnestly within the intense darkness of 

20 the chamber, hearkened — I know not why, except that an 
instinctive spirit prompted me — to certain low and indefinite 
sounds which came, through the pauses of the storm, at long 
intervals, I knew not whence. Overpowered by an intense 
sentiment of horror, unaccountable yet unendurable, I threw 

25 on my clothes with haste, (for I felt that I should sleep no 
more during the night,) and endeavored to arouse myself 
from the pitiable condition into which I had fallen, by pacing 
rapidly to and fro through the apartment. 

I had taken but few turns in this manner, when a light step 

30 on an adjoining staircase arrested my attention. I presently 
recognized it as that of Usher. In an instant afterward he 
rapped with a gentle touch at my door, and entered, bearing 
a lamp. His countenance was, as usual, cadaverously wan — 
but, moreover, there was a species of mad hilarity in his eyes 

35 — an evidently restrained hysteria in his whole demeanor. 



THE FALL OF THE HOUSE OF USHER 65 

His air appalled me — but anything was preferable to the soli- 
tude which I had so long endured, and 1 even welcomed his 
presence as a relief. 

" And you have not seen it? " he said abruptly, after having ^ 
stared about him for some moments in silence — <' you have 5 
not then seen it? — but, stay ! you shall." Thus speaking, and 
having carefully shaded his lamp, he hurried to one of the 
casements, and threw it freely open to the storm. 

The impetuous fury of the entering gust nearly lifted us 
from our feet. It was, indeed, a tempestuous yet sternly 10 
beautiful night, and one wildly singular in its terror and its 
beauty. A whirlwind had apparently collected its force in 
our vicinity ; for there were frequent and violent alterations 
in the direction of the wind ; and the exceeding density of 
the clouds (which hung so low as to press upon the turrets 15 
of the house) did not prevent our perceiving the life-like 
velocity with which they flew careering from all points against 
each other, without passing away into the distance. I say that 
even their exceeding density did not prevent our perceiving 
this ; yet we had no glimpse of the moon or stars, nor was 20 
there any flashing forth of the Hghtning. But the under sur- 
faces of the huge masses of agitated vapor, as well as all 
terrestrial objects immediately around us, were glowing in 
the unnatural light of a faintly luminous and distinctly vis- 
ible gaseous exhalation which hung about and enshrouded 25 
the mansion. 

*' You must not — you shall not behold this ! " said I, shud- 
deringly, to Usher, as I led him with a gentle violence from 
the window to a seat. " These appearances, which bewilder 
you, are merely electrical phenomena not uncommon — or it 30 
may be that they have their ghastly origin in the rank miasma 
of the tarn. Let us close this casement ; the air is chilling and 
dangerous to your frame. Here is one of your favorite 
romances. I will read, and you shall listen ; — and so we 
will pass away this terrible night together." 35 



66 SELECTIONS FROM POE 

The antique volume which I had taken up was the '' Mad 
Trist " of Sir Launcelot Canning ; but I had called it a favorite 
of Usher's more in sad jest than in earnest ; for, in truth, there 
is little in its uncouth and unimaginative prolixity which could 
5 have had interest for the lofty and spiritual ideality of my 
friend. It was, however, the only book immediately at hand; 
and I indulged a vague hope that the excitement which now 
agitated the hypochondriac might find relief (for the history 
of mental disorder is full of similar anomalies) even in the 

lo extremeness of the folly which I should read. Could I have 
judged, indeed, by the wild overstrained air of vivacity with 
which he hearkened, or apparently hearkened, to the words 
of the tale, I might well have congratulated myself upon the 
success of my design. 

15 I had arrived at that well-known portion of the story where 
Ethelred, the hero of the Trist, having sought in vain for 
peaceable admission into the dwelling of the hermit, proceeds 
to make good an entrance by force. Here, it will be remem- 
bered, the words of the narrative run thus : — 

2Q " And Ethelred, who was by nature of a doughty heart, and 
who was now mighty withal, on account of the powerfulness of the 
wine which he had drunken, waited no longer to hold parley with 
the hermit, who, in sooth, was of an obstinate and maliceful turn, 
but, feeling the rain upon his shoulders, and fearing the rising of 

25 the tempest, uplifted his mace outright, and with blows made 
quickly room in the plankings of the door for his gauntleted hand ; 
and now pulling therewith sturdily, he so cracked, and ripped, 
and tore all asunder, that the noise of the dry and hollow-sounding 



30 At the termination of this sentence I started, and for a 
moment paused ; for it appeared to me (although I at once 
concluded that my excited fancy had deceived me) — it 
appeared to me that from some very remote portion of the 
mansion there came, indistinctly, to my ears, what might have 

35 been, in its exact similarity of character, the echo (but a stifled 



THE FALL OF THE HOUSE OF USHER 6/ 

and dull one certainly) of the very cracking and ripping sound 
which Sir Launcelot had so particularly described. It was, 
beyond doubt, the coincidence alone which had arrested my 
attention ; for, amid the rattling of the sashes of the case- 
ments, and the ordinary commingled noises of the still increas- 5 
ing storm, the sound, in itself, had nothing, surely, which should 
have interested or disturbed me. I continued the story : — 

" But the good champion Ethelred, now entering within the 
door, was sore enraged and amazed to perceive no signal of the 
maliceful hermit ; but, in the stead thereof, a dragon of a scaly 10 
and prodigious demeanor, and of a fiery tongue, which sate in 
guard before a palace of gold, with a floor of silver ; and upon 
the wall there hung a shield of shining brass with this legend 
en written — 

Who entereth herein, a conqueror hath bin; 15 

Who slayeth the dragon, the shield he shall win. 

And Ethelred uplifted his mace, and struck upon the head of the 
dragon, which fell before him, and gave up his pesty breath, with 
a shriek so horrid and harsh, and withal so piercing, that Ethelred 
had fain to close his ears with his hands against the dreadful noise 20 
of it, the like whereof was never before heard." 

Here again I paused abruptly, and now with a feeling of 
wild amazement ; for there could be no doubt whatever that, 
in this instance, I did actually hear (although from what 
direction it proceeded I found it impossible to say) a low and 25 
apparently distant, but harsh, protracted, and most unusual 
screaming or grating sound — the exact counterpart of what 
my fancy had already conjured up for the dragon's unnatural 
shriek as described by the romancer. 

Oppressed, as I certainly was, upon the occurrence of this 30 
second and most extraordinary coincidence, by a thousand 
conflicting sensations, in which wonder and extreme terror 
were predominant, I still retained sufficient presence of mind 
to avoid exciting, by any observation, the sensitive nervousness 
of my companion. I was by no means certain that he had 35 



68 SELECTIONS FROM POE 

noticed the sounds in question ; although, assuredly, a strange 
alteration had during the last few minutes taken place in his 
demeanor. From a position fronting my own, he had gradu- 
ally brought round his chair, so as to sit with his face to the 
5 door of the chamber ; and thus I could but partially perceive 
his features, although I saw that his lips trembled as if he were 
murmuring inaudibly. His head had dropped upon his breast 
— yet I knew that he was not asleep, from the wide and rigid 
opening of the eye as I caught a glance of it in profile. The 
lo motion of his body, too, was at variance with this idea — for 
he rocked from side to side with a gentle yet constant and 
uniform sway. Having rapidly taken notice of all this, I re- 
sumed the narrative of Sir Launcelot, which thus proceeded : — 

" And now, the champion, having escaped from the terrible fury 
1 5 of the dragon, bethinking himself of the brazen shield, and of the 
breaking up of the enchantment which was upon it, removed the 
carcass from out of the way before him, and approached valor- 
ously over the silver pavement of the castle to where the shield 
was upon the wall ; which in sooth tarried not for his full coming, 
2o but fell down at his feet upon the silver floor, with a mighty great 
and terrible ringing sound." 

No sooner had these syllables passed my lips, than — as if 
a shield of brass had indeed, at the moment, fallen heavily 
upon a floor of silver — I became aware of a distinct, hollow, 

25 metallic and clangorous, yet apparently muflled reverberation. 
Completely unnerved, I leaped to my feet ; but the measured 
rocking movement of Usher was undisturbed. I rushed to the 
chair in which he sat. His eyes were bent fixedly before him, 
and throughout his whole countenance there reigned a stony 

30 rigidity. But, as I placed my hand upon his shoulder, there 
came a strong shudder over his whole person ; a sickly smile 
quivered about his lips ; and I saw that he spoke in a low, 
hurried, and gibbering murmur, as if unconscious of my pres- 
ence. Bending closely over him, I at length drank in the 

35 hideous import of his words. 



THE FALL OF THE HOUSE OF USHER 69 

'* Not hear it ? — yes, I hear it, and have heard it. Long — 
iong — long — many minutes, many hours, many days, have 
I heard it — yet I dared not — oh, pity me, miserable wretch 
that I am ! — I dared not — I dai'cd not speak ! We have put 
her living in the tomb ! Said I not that my senses were acute? 5 
I now tell you that I heard her first feeble movements in the 
hollow coffin. I heard them — many, many days ago — yet I 
dared not — / dared not speak! And now — to-night — 
Ethelred — ha ! ha ! — the breaking of the hermit's door, and 
the death-cry of the dragon, and the clangor of the shield ! — 10 
say, rather, the rending of her coffin, and the grating of the 
iron hinges of her prison, and her struggles within the coppered 
archway of the vault ! Oh, whither shall I fly? Will she not 
be here anon? Is she not hurrying to upbraid me for my 
haste? Have I not heard her footstep on the stair? Do I not 15 
distinguish that heavy and horrible beating of her heart? 
Madman ! " — here he sprang furiously to his feet, and 
shrieked out his syllables, as if in the effort he were giving 
up his soul — " Madman ! I tell you that she now stands 
without the doorf'' 20 

As if in the superhuman energy of his utterance there had 
been found the potency of a spell, the huge antique panels to 
which the speaker pointed threw slowly back, upon the instant, 
their ponderous and ebony jaws. It was the work of the rush- 
ing gust — but then without those doors there did stand the 25 
lofty and enshrouded figure of the lady Madeline of Usher. 
There was blood upon her white robes, and the evidence of 
some bitter struggle upon every portion of her emaciated r 
frame. For a moment she remained trembling and reeling to 
and fro upon the threshold — then, with a low moaning cry, 30 
fell heavily inward upon the person of her brother, and, in her 
violent and now final death-agonies, bore him to the floor a 
corpse, and a victim to the terrors he had anticipated. 

From that chamber, and from that mansion, I fled aghast. 
The storm was still abroad in all its wrath as I found myself 35 



70 SELECTIONS FROM POE 

crossing the old causeway. Suddenly there shot along the 
path a wild light, and I turned to see whence a gleam so 
unusual could have issued ; for the vast house and its shadows 
were alone behind me. The radiance was that of the full, 
5 setting, and blood-red moon, which now shone vividly through 
that once barely-discernible fissure, of which I have before 
spoken as extending from the roof of the building, in a zigzag 
direction, to the base. While I gazed, this fissure rapidly 
widened — there came a fierce breath of the whirlwind — the 

lo entire orb of the satellite burst at once upon my sight — my 
brain reeled as I saw the mighty walls rushing asunder — there 
was a long tumultuous shouting sound like the voice of a 
thousand waters — and the deep and dank tarn at my feet 
closed sullenly and silently over the fragments of the ^' House 

IS of Usher '^ 



WILLIAM WILSON 

What say of it ? what say of conscience grim, 
That spectre in my path ? 

Chamberlayne : Pharronida 

Let me call myself, for the present, William Wilson. The 
fair page now lying before me need not be sullied with my 
real appellation. This has been already too much an object 
for the scorn — for the horror — for the detestation of my 
race. To the uttermost regions of the globe have not the 5 
indignant winds bruited its unparalleled infamy ? Oh, outcast 
of all outcasts most abandoned ! — to the earth art thou not 
forever dead ? to its honors, to its flowers, to its golden aspira- 
tions? — and a cloud, dense, dismal, and limitless, does it not 
hang eternally between thy hopes and heaven? 10 

I would not, if I could, here or to-day, embody a record of 
my later years of unspeakable misery and unpardonable crime. 
This epoch, these later years, took unto themselves a sudden 
elevation in turpitude, whose origin alone it is my present 
purpose to assign. Men usually grow base by degrees. From 15 
me, in an instant, all virtue dropped bodily as a mantle. From 
comparatively trivial wickedness I passed, with the stride of 
a giant, into more than the enormities of an Elah-Gabalus. 
What chance — what one event brought this evil thing to pass, 
bear with me while I relate. Death approaches; and the 20 
shadow which foreruns him has thrown a softening influence 
over my spirit. I long, in passing through the dim valley, for 
the sympathy — I had nearly said for the pity — of my fellow- 
men. I would fain have them believe that I have been, in 
some measure, the slave of circumstances beyond human con- 25 
trol. I would wish them to seek out for me, in the details I 

71 



72 SELECTIONS FROM POE 

am about to give, some little oasis of fatality amid a wilder- 
ness of error. I would have them allow — what they cannot 
refrain from allowing — that, although temptation may have 
erewhile existed as great, man was never thus, at least, tempted 
5 before — certainly, never thus fell. And is it therefore that 
he has never thus suffered? Have I not indeed been living 
in a dream? And am I not now dying a victim to the horror 
and the mystery of the wildest of all sublunary visions? 

I am the descendant of a race whose imaginative and easily 

lo excitable temperament has at all times rendered them remark- 
able ; and, in my earliest infancy, I gave evidence of having 
fully inherited the family character. As I advanced in years 
it was more strongly developed ; becoming, for many reasons, 
a cause of serious disquietude to my friends, and of positive 

15 injury to myself. I grew self-willed, addicted to the wildest 
caprices, and a prey to the most ungovernable passions. 
Weak-minded, and beset with constitutional infirmities akin 
to my own, my parents could do but little to check the evil 
propensities which distinguished me. Some feeble and ill- 

20 directed efforts resulted in complete failure on their part, and, 
of course, in total triumph on mine. Thenceforward my voice 
was a household law ; and at an age when few children have 
abandoned their leading-strings I was left to the guidance of 
my own will, and became, in all but name, the master of my 

25 own actions. 

My earliest recollections of a school-life are connected with 
a large, rambling, Elizabethan house, in a misty-looking village 
of England, where were a vast number of gigantic and gnarled 
trees, and where all the houses were excessively ancient. In 

30 truth, it was a dream-like and spirit-soothing place, that ven- 
erable old town. At this moment, in fancy, I feel the refresh- 
ing chilliness of its deeply-shadowed avenues, inhale the 
fragrance of its thousand shrubberies, and thrill anew with 
undefinable delight at the deep hollow note of the church-bell, 

35 breaking, each hour, with sullen and sudden roar, upon the 



WILLIAM WILSON 73 

stillness of the dusky atmosphere in which the fretted Gothic 
steeple lay imbedded and asleep. 

It gives me, perhaps, as riiuch of pleasure as I can now in any 
manner experience to dwell upon minute recollections of the 
school and its concerns. Steeped in misery as I am — misery, 5 
alas ! only too real — I shall be pardoned for seeking relief, 
however slight and temporary, in the weakness of a few ram- 
bling details. These, moreover, utterly trivial, and even 
ridiculous in themselves, assume to my fancy adventitious 
importance, as connected with a period and a locality when 10 
and where I recognize the first ambiguous monitions of the 
destiny which afterwards so fully overshadowed me. Let me 
then remember. 

The house, I have said, was old and irregular. The grounds 
were extensive, and a high and solid brick wall, topped with 15 
a bed of mortar and broken glass, encompassed the whole. 
This prison-like rampart formed the hmit of our domain ; 
beyond it we saw but thrice a week — once every Saturday 
afternoon, when, attended by two ushers, we were permitted 
to take brief walks in a body through some of the neighbor- 20 
ing fields — and twice during Sunday, when we were paraded 
in the same formal manner to the morning and evening serv- 
ice in the one church of the village. Of this church the prin- 
cipal of our school was pastor. With how deep a spirit of 
wonder and perplexity was I wont to regard him from our 25 
remote pew in the gallery, as, with step solemn and slow, he • 
ascended the pulpit ! This reverend man, with countenance 
so demurely benign, with robes so glossy and so clerically flow- 
ing, with wig so minutely powdered, so rigid and so vast, — 
could this be he who, of late, with sour visage, and in snuffy 30 
habiliments, administered, ferule in hand, the Draconian Laws 
of the academy? Oh, gigantic paradox, too utterly monstrous 
for solution ! 

At an angle of the ponderous wall frowned a more pon- 
derous gate. It was riveted and studded with iron bolts, and 35 



74 



SELECTIONS FROM POE 



surmounted with jagged iron spikes. What impressions of 
deep awe did it inspire ! It was never opened save for the 
three periodical egressions and ingressions already mentioned ; 
then, in every creak of its mighty hinges, w^e found a plenitude 

5 of mystery — a world of matter for solemn remark, or for more 
solemn meditation. 

The extensive enclosure was irregular in form, having many 
capacious recesses. Of these, three or four of the largest con- 
stituted the play-ground. It was level, and covered with fine 

lo hard gravel. I well remember it had no trees, nor benches, 
nor anything similar within it. Of course it was in the rear of 
the house. In front lay a small parterre, planted with box 
and other shrubs ; but through this sacred division we passed 
only upon rare occasions indeed — such as a first advent to 

15 school or final departure thence, or perhaps when, a parent 
or friend having called for us, we joyfully took our way home 
for the Christmas or Midsummer holidays. 

But the house ! — how quaint an old building was this ! — 
to me how veritably a palace of enchantment! There was 

20 really no end to its windings — to its incomprehensible sub- . 
divisions. It was difficult, at any given time, to say with cer- 
tainty upon which of its two stories one happened to be. From 
each room to every other there were sure to be found three or 
four steps either in ascent or descent. Then the lateral branches 

25 were innumerable, inconceivable, and so returning in upon 
themselves that our most exact ideas in regard to the whole 
mansion were not very far different from those with which we 
pondered upon infinity. During the five years of my residence 
here I was never able to ascertain, with precision, in what 

30 remote locality lay the little sleeping apartment assigned to 
myself and some eighteen or twenty other scholars. 

The school-room was the largest in the house — I could not 
help thinking, in the world. It was very long, narrow, and 
dismally low, with pointed Gothic windows and a ceiling of 

35 oak. In a remote and terror-inspiring angle was a square 



WILLIAM WILSON 75 

enclosure of eight or ten feet, comprising the sanctum, " dur- 
ing hours," of our principal, the Reverend Dr. Bransby. It 
was a solid structure, with massy door, sooner than open which 
in the absence of the " Dominie " we would all have willingly 
perished by the peine forte et dure. In other angles were two 5 
other similar boxes, far less reverenced, indeed, but still 
greatly matters of awe. One of these was the pulpit of the 
" classical " usher ; one, of the " English and mathematical." 
Interspersed about the room, crossing and recrossing in end- 
less irregularity, were innumerable benches and desks, black, 10 
ancient, and time-worn, piled desperately with much-be- 
thumbed books, and so beseamed with initial letters, names 
at full length, grotesque figures, and other multiplied efforts 
of the knife, as to have entirely lost what little of original 
form might have been their portion in days long departed. A 15 
huge bucket with water stood at one extremity of the room, 
and a clock of stupendous dimensions at the other. 

Encompassed by the massy walls of this venerable academy, 
I passed, yet not in tedium or disgust, the years of the third 
lustrum of my life. The teeming brain of childhood requires 20 
no external world of incident to occupy or amuse it ; and the 
apparently dismal monotony of a school was replete with more 
intense excitement than my riper youth has derived from lux- 
ury, or my full manhood from crime. Yet I must believe that 
my first mental development had in it much of the uncommon 25 
— even much of the outre. Upon mankind at large the events 
of very early existence rarely leave in mature age any defi- 
nite impression. All is gray shadow — a weak and irregular 
remembrance — an indistinct regathering of feeble pleasures 
and phantasmagoric pains. With me this is not so. In child- 30 
hood I must have felt, with the energy of a man, what I now 
find stamped upon memory in lines as vivid, as deep, and as 
durable as the exergues of the Carthaginian medals. 

Yet in fact — in the fact of the world's view — how little 
was there to remember ! The morning's awakening, the 35 



70 SELECTIONS FROM POE 

nightly summons to bed; the connmgs, the recitations; the 
periodical half-holidays, and perambulations ; the play- ground, 
with its broils, its pastimes, its intrigues; — these, by a mental 
sorcery long forgotten, were made to involve a wilderness of 
5 sensation, a world of rich incident, an universe of varied emo- 
tion, of excitement the most passionate and spirit-stirring. 
" Oh, le bon temps, que ce siecle de fer ! " 

In truth, the ardor, the enthusiasm, and the imperiousness 
of my disposition, soon rendered me a marked character 

lo among my schoolmates, and by slow but natural gradations 
gave me an ascendancy over all not greatly older than myself : 
over all with a single exception. This exception was found in 
the person of a scholar who, although no relation, bore the 
same Christian and surname as myself, — a circumstance, in 

15 fact, little remarkable; for, notwithstanding a noble descent, 
mine was one of those every -day appellations which seem by 
prescriptive right to have been, time out of mind, the com- 
mon property of the mob. In this narrative I have therefore 
designated myself as William Wilson, — a fictitious title not 

20 very dissimilar to the real. My namesake alone, of those who 
in school- phraseology constituted *' our set," presumed to 
compete with me in the studies of the class — in the sports 
and broils of the play-ground — to refuse implicit belief in 
my assertions, and submission to my will — indeed, to inter- 

25 fere with my arbitrary dictation in any respect whatsoever. 
If there is on earth a supreme and unqualified despotism, it is 
the despotism of a master-mind in boyhood over the less 
energetic spirits of its companions. 

Wilson's rebellion was to me a source of the greatest embar-f 

30 rassment ; the more so as, in spite of the bravado with which 
in pubHc I made a point of treating him and his pretensions, 
I secretly felt that I feared him, and could not help thinking 
the equality, which he maintained so easily with myself, a 
proof of his true superiority; since not to be overcome cost 

35 me a perpetual struggle. Yet this superiority, even this 



WILLIAM WILSON 'JJ 

equality, was in truth acknowledged by no one but myself ; our 
associates, by some unaccountable blindness, seemed not even 
to suspect it. Indeed, his competition, his resistance, and 
especially his impertinent and dogged interference with my 
purposes, were not more pointed than private. He appeared s 
to be destitute alike of the ambition which urged, and of the 
passionate energy of mind which enabled, me to excel. In 
his rivalry he might have been supposed actuated solely by 
a whimsical desire to thwart, astonish, or mortify myself ; 
although there were times when I could not help observing, lo 
with a feeling made up of wonder, abasement, and pique, that 
he mingled with his injuries, his insults, or his contradictions, 
a certain most inappropriate, and assuredly most unwelcome, 
affectionateness of manner. I could only conceive this singular 
behavior to arise from a consummate self-conceit assuming 15 
the vulgar airs of patronage and protection. 

Perhaps it was this latter trait in Wilson's conduct, con- 
joined wnth our identity of name, and the mere accident of 
our having entered the school upon the same day, which set 
afloat the notion that we were brothers, among the senior 20 
classes in the academy. These do not usually inquire with 
much strictness into the affairs of their juniors. I have before 
said, or should have said, that Wilson was not in the most 
remote degree connected with my family. But assuredly if 
we had been brothers we must have been twins; for, after 25 
leaving Dr. Bransby's, I casually learned that my namesake 
was born on the nineteenth of January, 1813 ; and this is a 
somewhat remarkable coincidence ; for the day is precisely 
that of my own nativity. 

It may seem strange that in spite of the continual anxiety 30 
occasioned me by the rivalry of Wilson, and his intolerable 
spirit of contradiction, I could not bring myself to hate him 
altogether. We had, to be sure, nearly every day a quarrel in 
which, yielding me pubHcly the palm of victory, he, in some 
manner, contrived to make me feel that it was he who had 35 



78 SELECTIONS FROM POE 

deserved it ; yet a sense of pride on my part, and a veritable 
dignity on his own, kept us always upon what are called " speak- 
ing terms," while there were many points of strong congeni- 
ality in our tempers, operating to awake in me a sentiment 
5 which our position alone, perhaps, prevented from ripening 
into friendship. It is difficult, indeed, to define, or even to 
describe, my real feelings towards him. They formed a motley 
and heterogeneous admixture : some petulant animosity, which 
was not yet hatred, some esteem, more respect, much fear, 

lo with a world of uneasy curiosity. To the moralist it will be 
unnecessary to say, in addition, that Wilson and myself were 
the most inseparable of companions. 

It was no doubt the anomalous state of affairs existing 
between us which turned all my attacks upon him (and they 

15 were many, either open or covert) into the channel of banter 
or practical joke (giving pain while assuming the aspect of 
mere fun) rather than into a more serious and determined 
hostility. But my endeavors on this head were by no means 
uniformly successful, even when my plans were the most wittily 

20 concocted ; for my namesake had much about him, in char- 
acter, of that unassuming and quiet austerity which, while 
enjoying the poignancy of its own jokes, has no heel of Achilles 
in itself, and absolutely refuses to be laughed at. I could find, 
indeed, but one vulnerable point, and that lying in a personal 

25 pecuHarity arising, perhaps, from constitutional disease, would 
have been spared by any antagonist less at his wit's end than 
myself : — my rival had a weakness in the faucial or guttural 
organs, which precluded him from raising his voice at any 
time above a very low whisper. Of this defect I did not fail to 

30 take what poor advantage lay in my power. 

Wilson's retaliations in kind were many ; and there was one 
form of his practical wit that disturbed me beyond measure. 
How his sagacity first discovered at all that so petty a thing 
would vex me, is a question I never could solve ; but having 

35 discovered, he habitually practised the annoyance. I had 



WILLIAM WILSON 79 

always felt aversion to my uncourtly patronymic, and its very 
common, if not plebeian prsenomen. The words were venom 
in my ears ; and when, upon the day of my arrival, a second • 
William Wilson came also to the academy, I felt angry with 
him for bearing the name, and doubly disgusted with the name 5 
because a stranger bore it, who would be the cause of its two- 
fold repetition, who would be constantly in my presence, and 
whose concerns, in the ordinary routine of the school business, 
must inevitably, on account of the detestable coincidence, be 
often confounded with my own. 10 

The feeling of vexation thus engendered grew stronger with 
every circumstance tending to show resemblance, moral or 
physical, between my rival and myself. I had not then dis- 
covered the remarkable fact that we were of the same age ; 
but I saw that we were of the same height, and I perceived 15 
that we were even singularly alike in general contour of person 
and outhne of feature. I was galled, too, by the rumor touch- 
ing a relationship which bad grown current in the upper forms. 
In a word, nothing could more seriously disturb me (although 
I scrupulously concealed such disturbance) than any allusion 20 
to a similarity of mind, person, or condition existing between 
us. But, in truth, I had no reason to believe that (with the 
exception of the matter of relationship, and in the case of 
Wilson himself) this similarity had ever been made a subject 
of comment, or even observed at all by our schoolfellows. 25 
That he observed it in all its bearings, and as fixedly as I, was 
apparent; but that he could discover in such circumstances 
so fruitful a field of annoyance can only be attributed, as I said 
before, to his more than ordinary penetration. 

His cue, which was to perfect an imitation of myself, lay 30 
both in words and in actions ; and most admirably did he play 
his part. My dress it was an easy matter to copy ; my gait and 
general manner were, without difficulty, appropriated ; in spite 
of his constitutional defect, even my voice did not escape him. 
My louder tones were, of course, unattempted, but then the 35 



8o SELECTIONS FROM POE 

key, — it was identical ; and his singu/aj' whisper^ — it grew 
the very echo of my own. 

How greatly this most exquisite portraiture harassed me 
(for it could not justly be termed a caricature) I will not now 
5 venture to describe. I had but one consolation — in the fact 
that the imitation, apparently, was noticed by myself alone, 
and that I had to endure only the knowing and strangely sar- 
castic smiles of my namesake himself. Satisfied with having 
produced in my bosom the intended effect, he seemed to 

10 chuckle in secret over the sting he had inflicted, and was 
characteristically disregardful of the public applause which the 
success of his witty endeavors might have so easily elicited. 
That the school, indeed, did not feel his design, perceive its 
accomplishment, and participate in his sneer, was, for many 

15 anxious months, a riddle I could not resolve. Perhaps the 
gradation of his copy rendered it not so readily perceptible ; 
or, more possibly, I owed my security to the masterly air of 
the copyist, who, disdaining the letter (which in a painting is all 
the obtuse can see) gave but the full spirit of his original for 

20 my individual contemplation and chagrin. 

I have already more than once spoken of the disgusting air 
of patronage which he assumed toward me, and of his frequent 
officious interference with my will. This interference often 
took the ungracious character of advice ; advice not openly 

25 given, but hinted or insinuated. I received it with a repug- 
nance which gained strength as I grew in years. Yet, at this 
distant day, let me do him the simple justice to acknowledge 
that I can recall no occasion when the suggestions of my rival 
were on the side of those errors or follies so usual to his 

30 immature age and seeming inexperience ; that his moral 
sense, at least, if not his general talents and worldly wisdom, 
was far keener than my own ; and that I might, to-day, have 
been a better, and thus a happier man, had I less frequently 
rejected the counsels embodied in those meaning whispers 

35 which I then but too cordially hated and too bitterly despised. 



WILLIAM WILSON 8l 

As it was, I at length grew restive in the extreme under 
his distasteful supervision, and daily resented more and more 
openly what 1 considered his intolerable arrogance. I have 
said that, in the first years of our connection as schoolmates, 
my feelings in regard to him might have been easily ripened 5 
into friendship ; but, in the latter months of my residence at 
the academy, although the intrusion of his ordinary manner 
had, beyond doubt, in some measure abated, my sentiments, 
in nearly similar proportion, partook very much of positive 
hatred. Upon one occasion he saw this, I think, and after- 10 
wards avoided or made a show of avoiding me. 

It was about the same period, if I remember aright, that, 
in an altercation of violence with him, in which he was more 
than usually thrown off his guard, and spoke and acted with 
an openness of demeanor rather foreign to his nature, I dis- 15 
covered, or fancied I discovered, in his accent, his air and 
general appearance, a something which first startled, and 
then deeply interested me, by bringing to mind dim visions 
of my earliest infancy — wild, confused and thronging mem- 
ories of a time when memory herself was yet unborn. I can- 20 
not better describe the sensation which oppressed me than by 
saying that I could with difficulty shake off the belief of my 
having been acquainted with the being who stood before me, 
at some epoch very long ago — some point of the past even 
infinitely remote. The delusion, however, faded rapidly as it 25 
came ; and I mention it at all but to define the day of the 
last conversation I there held with my singular namesake. 

The huge old house, with its countless subdivisions, had 
several large chambers communicating with each other, where 
slept the greater number of the students. There were, how- 30 
ever (as must necessarily happen in a building so awkwardly 
planned) many little nooks or recesses, the odds and ends of 
the structure ; and these the economic ingenuity of Dr. 
Bransby had also fitted up as dormitories; although, being 
the merest closets, they were capable of accommodating but 35 



82 SELECTIONS FROM POE 

a single individual. One of these small apartments was occu- 
pied by Wilson. 

One night, about the close of my fifth year at the school, 
and immediately after the altercation just mentioned, finding 
5 every one wrapped in sleep, I arose from bed, and, lamp in 
hand, stole through a wilderness of narrow passages from my 
own bedroom to that of my rival. I had long been plotting 
one of those ill-natured pieces of practical wit at his expense 
in which I had hitherto been so uniformly unsuccessful. It 

lo was my intention, now, to put my scheme in operation, and I 
resolved to make him feel the whole extent of the malice 
with which I was imbued. Having reached his closet, I noise- 
lessly entered, leaving the lamp, with a shade over it, on the 
outside. I advanced a step, and listened to the sound of his 

15 tranquil breathing. Assured of his being asleep, I returned, 
took the light, and with it again approached the bed. Close 
curtains were around it, which, in the prosecution of my plan, 
I slowly and quietly withdrew, when the bright rays fell vividly 
upon the sleeper, and my eyes at the same moment upon his 

20 countenance. I looked, — and a numbness, an iciness of 
feeling, instantly pervaded my frame. My breast heaved, my 
knees tottered, my whole spirit became possessed with an 
objectless yet intolerable horror. Gasping for breath, I low- 
ered the lamp in still nearer proximity to the face. Were 

25 these, — these the lineaments of William Wilson? I saw, 
indeed, that they were his, but I shook as if with a fit of the 
ague, in fancying they were not. What was there about them 
to confound me in this manner? I gazed, — while my brain 
reeled with a multitude of incoherent thoughts. Not thus he 

30 appeared — assuredly not thus — in the vivacity of his waking 
hours. The same name ! the same contour of person ! the 
same day of arrival at the academy ! And then his dogged 
and meaningless imitation of my gait, my voice, my habits, 
and my manner ! W^as it, in truth, within the bounds of 

35 human possibiHty, that what I now saw was the result, merely, 



WILLIAM WILSON 83 

of the habitual practice of this sarcastic imitation? Awe- 
stricken, and with a creeping shudder, I extinguished the 
lamp, passed silently from the chamber, and left, at once, the 
halls of that old academy, never to enter them again. 

After a lapse of some months, spent at home in mere idle- 5 
ness, I found myself a student at Eton. The brief interval 
had been sufficient to enfeeble my remembrance of the events 
at Dr. Bransby's, or at least to effect a material change in the 
nature of the feelings with which I remembered them. The 
truth — the tragedy — of the drama was no more. I could 10 
now find room to doubt the evidence of my senses ; and 
seldom called up the subject at all but with wonder at the 
extent of human credulity, and a smile at the vivid force of 
the imagination which I hereditarily possessed. Neither was 
this species of scepticism likely to be diminished by the char- 15 
acter of the life I led at Eton. The vortex of thoughtless 
folly, into which I there so immediately and so recklessly 
plunged, washed away all but the froth of my past hours, en- 
gulfed at once every solid or serious impression, and left to 
memory only the veriest levities of a former existence. 20 

I do not wish, however, to trace the course of my miser- 
able profligacy here — a profligacy which set at defiance the 
laws, while it eluded the vigilance, of the institution. Three 
years of folly, passed without profit, had but given me rooted 
habits of vice, and added, in a somewhat unusual degree, to 25 
my bodily stature, when, after a week of soulless dissipation, 
I invited a small party of the most dissolute students to a 
secret carousal in my chambers. We met at a late hour of 
the night; for our debaucheries were to be faithfully pro- 
tracted until morning. The wine flowed freely, and there 30 
were not wanting other and perhaps more dangerous seduc- 
tions ; so that the gray dawn had already faintly appeared in 
the east while our delirious extravagance was at its height. 
Madly flushed with cards and intoxication, I was in the act of 
insisting upon a toast of more than w^onted profanity, when 35 



84 SELECTIONS FROM POE 

my attention was suddenly diverted by the violent, although 
partial, unclosing of the door of the apartment, and by the 
eager voice of a servant from without. He said that some 
person, apparently in great haste, demanded to speak with 
5 me in the hall. 

Wildly excited with wine, the unexpected interruption 
rather delighted than surprised me. I staggered forward at 
once, and a few steps brought me to the vestibule of the 
building. In this low and small room there hung no lamp; 

10 and now no light at all was admitted, save that of the exceed- 
ingly feeble dawn which made its way through the semi- 
circular window. As I put my foot over the threshold, I 
became aware of the figure of a youth about my own height, 
and habited in a white kerseymere morning frock, cut in the 

15 novel fashion of the one I myself wore at the moment. This 
the faint light enabled me to perceive ; but the features of his 
face I could not distinguish. Upon my entering, he strode 
hurriedly up to me, and, seizing me by the arm with a gesture 
of petulant impatience, whispered the words " William Wil- 

20 son ! " in my ear. 

I grew perfectly sober in an instant. 

There was that in the manner of the stranger, and in the 
tremulous shake of his uplifted finger, as he held it between 
my eyes and the light, which filled me with unquahfied 

25 amazement ; but it was not this which had so violently moved 
me. It was the pregnancy of solemn admonition in the singu- 
lar, low, hissing utterance ; and, above all, it was the charac- 
ter, the tone, the key^ of those few, simple, and familiar, yet 
whispered syllables, which came with a thousand thronging 

30 memories of by- gone days, and struck upon my soul with the 
shock of a galvanic battery. Ere I could recover the use of 
my senses he was gone. 

Although this event failed not of a vivid effect upon my 
disordered imagination, yet was it evanescent as vivid. For 

35 some weeks, indeed, I busied myself in earnest inquiry, or 



WILLIAM WILSON 85 

was wrapped in a cloud of morbid speculation. I did not 
pretend to disguise from my perception the identity of the 
singular individual who thus perseveringly interfered with my 
affairs, and harassed me with his insinuated counsel. But who 
and what was this Wilson? — and whence came he? — and 5 
what were his purposes? Upon neither of these points could 
I be satisfied — merely ascertaining, in regard to him, that a 
sudden accident in his family had caused his removal from 
Dr. Bransby's academy on the afternoon of the day in which 
I myself had eloped. But in a brief period I ceased to think 10 
upon the subject, my attention being all absorbed in a con- 
templated departure for Oxford. Thither I soon went, the 
uncalculating vanity of my parents furnishing me with an 
outfit and annual establishment which would enable me to 
indulge at will in the luxury already so dear to my heart — to 15 
vie in profuseness of expenditure with the haughtiest heirs of 
the wealthiest earldoms in Great Britain. 

Excited by such appliances to vice, my constitutional tem- 
perament broke forth with redoubled ardor, and I spurned 
even the common restraints of decency in the mad infatuation 20 
of my revels. But it were absurd to pause in the detail of my 
extravagance. Let it suffice, that among spendthrifts I out- 
Heroded Herod, and that, giving name to a multitude of 
novel follies, I added no brief appendix to the long catalogue 
of vices then usual in the most dissolute university of Europe. 25 

It could hardly be credited, however, that I had, even here, 
so utterly fallen from the gentlemanly estate as to seek ac- 
quaintance with the vilest arts of the gambler by profession, 
and, having become an adept in his despicable science, to 
practise it habitually as a means of increasing my already 30 
enormous income at the expense of the weak-minded among 
my fellow-collegians. Such, nevertheless, was the fact. And 
the very enormity of this offence against all manly and honor- 
able sentiment proved, beyond doubt, the main if not the 
sole reason of the impunity with which it was committed. 35 



86 SELECTIONS FROM POE 

Who, indeed, among my most abandoned associates, would 
not rather have disputed the clearest evidence of his senses, 
than have suspected of such courses the gay, the frank, the 
generous William Wilson — the noblest and most liberal com- 

5 moner at Oxford : him whose follies (said his parasites) were 
but the follies of youth and unbridled fancy — whose errors 
but inimitable whim — whose darkest vice but a careless and 
dashing extravagance? 

I had been now two years successfully busied in this way, 

lo when there came to the university a yoMrvg paii^emi nobleman, 
Glendinning — rich, said report, as Herodes Atticus — his 
riches, too, as easily acquired. I soon found him of weak 
intellect, and of course marked him as a fitting subject for my 
skill. I frequently engaged him in play, and contrived, with 

15 the gambler's usual art, to let him win considerable sums, the 
more effectually to entangle him in my snares. At length, my 
schemes being ripe, I met him (with the full intention that 
this meeting should be final and decisive) at the chambers of 
a fellow-commoner (Mr. Preston) equally intimate with both, 

20 but who, to do him justice, entertained not even a remote sus- 
picion of my design. To give to this a better coloring, I had 
contrived to have assembled a party of some eight or ten, and 
was solicitously careful that the introduction of cards should 
appear accidental, and originate in the proposal of my contem- 

25 plated dupe himself. To be brief upon a vile topic, none of 
the low finesse was omitted, so customary upon similar occa- 
sions that it is a just matter for wonder how any are still found 
so besotted as to fall its victim. 

We had protracted our sitting far into the night, and I had 

30 at length effected the manoeuvre of getting Glendinning as my 
sole antagonist. The game, too, was my favorite ecarte. The 
rest of the company, interested in the extent of our play, had 
abandoned their own cards, and were standing around us as 
spectators. The pafvenu^ who had been induced, by my 

35 artifices in the early part of the evening, to drink deeply, now 



WILLIAM WILSON 8/ 

shuffled, dealt, or played, with a wild nervousness of manner 
for which his intoxication, I thought, might partially but could 
not altogether account. In a very short period he had become 
my debtor to a large amount, when, having taken a long 
draught of port, he did precisely what I had been coolly antici- 5 
pating — he proposed to double our already extravagant stakes. . 
With a well-feigned show of reluctance, and not until after my 
repeated refusal had seduced him into some angry words which 
gave a color of pique to my compliance, did I finally comply. 
The result, of course, did but prove how entirely the prey was 10 
in my toils ; in less than an hour he had quadrupled his debt. 
For some time his countenance had been losing the florid 
tinge lent it by the wine ; but now, to my astonishment, I per- 
ceived that it had grown to a pallor truly fearful. I say, to my 
astonishment. Glendinning had been represented to my eager 15 
inquiries as immeasurably wealthy ; and the sums which he had 
as yet lost, although in themselves vast, could not, I supposed, 
very seriously annoy, much less so violently affect him. That 
he was overcome by the wine just swallowed, was the idea 
w^hich most readily presented itself ; and, rather with a view 20 
to the preservation of my own character in the eyes of my 
associates, than from any less interested motive, I was about 
to insist, peremptorily, upon a discontinuance of the play, 
when some expressions at my elbow from among the company, 
and an ejaculation evincing utter despair on the part of 25 
Glendinning, gave me to understand that I had effected his 
total ruin under circumstances which, rendering him an object 
for the pity of all, should have protected him from the ill 
offices even of a fiend. 

What now might have been my conduct it is difficult to say. 30 
The pitiable condition of my dupe had thrown an air of em- 
barrassed gloom over all ; and for some moments a profound 
silence was maintained, during which I could not help feeling 
my cheeks tingle with the many burning glances of scorn or 
reproach cast upon me by the less abandoned of the party. I 35 



88 SELECTIONS FROM POE 

will even own that an intolerable weight of anxiety was for a 
brief instant lifted from my bosom by the sudden and extraor- 
dinary interruption which ensued. The wide, heavy folding- 
doors of the apartment were all at once thrown open, to their 
5 full extent, with a vigorous and rushing impetuosity that ex- 
tinguished, as if by magic, every candle in the room. Their 
light, in dying, enabled us just to perceive that a stranger had 
entered, about my own height, and closely muffled in a cloak. 
The darkness, however, was now total ; and we could only feel 

lo that he was standing in our midst. Before any one of us could 
recover from the extreme astonishment into which this rude- 
ness had thrown all, we heard the voice of the intruder. 

" Gentlemen," he said, in a low, distinct, and never-to-be- 
forgotten whisper which thrilled to the very marrow of my 

15 bones, "gentlemen, I make no apology for this behavior, 
because, in thus behaving, I am but fulfilling a duty. You are, 
beyond doubt, uninformed of the true character of the person 
who has to-night won at ecarte a large sum of money from Lord 
Glendinning. I will therefore put you upon an expeditious and 

20 decisive plan of obtaining this very necessary information. 
Please to examine, at your leisure, the inner linings of the cuff 
of his left sleeve, and the several little packages which may be 
found in the somewhat capacious pockets of his embroidered 
morning wrapper." 

25 While he spoke, so profound was the stillness that one might 
have heard a pin drop upon the floor. In ceasing, he departed 
at once, and as abruptly as he had entered. Can I — shall I 
describe my sensations? Must I say that I felt all the horrors 
of the damned? Most assuredly I had little time for reflection. 

30 Many hands roughly seized me upon the spot, and lights were 
immediately re-procured. A search ensued. In the Hning of 
my sleeve were found all the court cards essential in ecai'te^ 
and, in the pockets of my wrapper, a number of packs, fac- 
similes of those used at our sittings, with the single exception 

35 that mine were of the species called, technically, arrondis ; the 



WILLIAM WILSON 89 

honors being slightly convex at the ends, the lower cards 
slightly convex at the sides. In this disposition, the dupe who 
cuts, as customary, at the length of the pack, will invariably 
find that he cuts his antagonist an honor ; while the gambler, 
cutting at the breadth, will, as certainly, cut nothing for his 5 
victim which may count in the records of the game. 

Any burst of indignation upon this discovery would have 
affected me less than the silent contempt, or the sarcastic com- 
posure, with which it was received. 

" Mr. Wilson," said our host, stooping to remove from 10 
beneath his feet an exceedingly luxurious cloak of rare furs, 
" Mr. Wilson, this is your property." (The weather was cold ; 
and, upon quitting my own room, I had thrown a cloak over 
my dressing wrapper, putting it off upon reaching the scene of 
play.) "I presume it is supererogatory to seek here" (eying 15 
the folds of the garment with a bitter smile) '* for any farther 
evidence of your skill. Indeed, we have had enough. You 
will see the necessity, I hope, of quitting Oxford — at all 
events, of quitting instantly my chambers." 

Abased, humbled to the dust as I then was, it is probable 20 
that I should have resented this galling language by immedi- 
ate personal violence, had not my whole attention been at the 
moment arrested by a fact of the most startling character. The 
cloak which I had worn was of a rare description of fur ; how 
^are, how extravagantly costly, I shall not venture to say. Its 25 
fashion, too, was of my own fantastic invention ; for I was 
fastidious to an absurd degree of coxcombry, in matters of this 
frivolous nature. When, therefore, Mr. Preston reached me 
that which he had picked up upon the floor, and near the 
folding-doors of the apartment, it was with an astonishment 30 
nearly bordering upon terror, that I perceived my own already 
hanging on my arm, (where I had no doubt unwittingly placed 
it) and that the one presented me was but its exact counter- 
part in every, in even the minutest possible particular. The 
singular being who had so disastrously exposed me, had been 35 



90 SELECTIONS FROM POE 

muffled, I remembered, in a cloak ; and none had been worn 
at all by any of the members of our party, with the exception 
of myself. Retaining some presence of mind, I took the one 
offered me by Preston ; placed it, unnoticed, over my own ; left 
5 the apartment with a resolute scowl of defiance ; and, next morn- 
ing ere dawn of day, commenced a hurried journey from Oxford 
to the continent, in a perfect agony of horror and of shame. 

I fled m vain. My evil destiny pursued me as if in exulta- 
tion, and proved, indeed, that the exercise of its mysterious 

10 dominion had as yet only begun. Scarcely had I set foot in 
Paris, ere I had fresh evidence of the detestable interest taken 
by this Wilson in my concerns. Years flew, while I experienced 
no relief. Villain! — at Rome, with how untimely, yet with 
how spectral an officiousness, stepped he in between me and 

15 my ambition ! At Vienna, too — at Berlin — and at Moscow ! 
Where, in truth, had I not bitter cause to curse him within my 
heart? From his inscrutable tyranny did I at length flee, 
panic-stricken, as from a pestilence ; and to the very ends of 
the earth I fled in vain. 

20 And again, and again, in secret communion with my own 
spirit, would I demand the questions, " Who is he? — whence 
came he? — and what are his objects?" But no answer was 
there found. And now I scrutinized, with a minute scrutiny, 
the forms, and the methods, and the leading traits of his im- 

25 pertinent supervision. But even here there was very little 
upon which to base a conjecture. It was noticeable, indeed, 
that, in no one of the multiplied instances in which he had of 
late crossed my path, had he so crossed it except to frustrate 
those schemes, or to disturb those actions, which, if fully carried 

30 out, might have resulted in bitter mischief. Poor justification 
this, in truth, for an authority so imperiously assumed ! Poor 
indemnity for natural rights of self-agency so pertinaciously, 
so insultingly denied ! 

I had also been forced to notice that my tormentor, for a very 

35 long period of time (while scrupulously and with miraculous 



WILLIAM WILSON 91 

dexterity maintaining his whim of an identity of apparel with 
myself) had so contrived it, in the execution of his varied 
interference with my will, that I saw not, at any moment, the 
features of his face. Be Wilson what he might, this^ at least, 
was but the veriest of affectation, or of folly. Could he, 5 
for an instant, have supposed that, in my admonisher at Eton 
— in the destroyer of my honor at Oxford, — in him who 
thwarted my ambition at Rome, my revenge at Paris, my 
passionate love at Naples, or what he falsely termed my avarice 
in Egypt, — that in this, my arch-enemy and evil genius, I 10 
could fail to recognize the William Wilson of my school-boy 
days : the namesake, the companion, the rival, the hated and 
dreaded rival at Dr. Bransby's? Impossible! — but let me 
hasten to the last eventful scene of the drama. 

Thus far I had succumbed supinely to this imperious domi- 15 
nation. The sentiment of deep awe with which I habitually 
regarded the elevated character, the majestic wisdom, the 
apparent omnipresence and omnipotence of Wilson, added to 
a feeling of even terror, with which certain other traits in his 
nature and assumptions inspired me, had operated, hitherto, 20 
to impress me with an idea of my own utter weakness and 
helplessness, and to suggest an implicit, although bitterly reluc- 
tant submission to his arbitrary will. But, of late days, I had 
given myself up entirely to wine ; and its maddening influence 
upon my hereditary temper rendered me more and more 25 
impatient of control. I began to murmur, to hesitate, to resist. 
And was it only fancy which induced me to believe that, with 
the increase of my own firmness, that of my tormentor under- 
went a proportional diminution? Be this as it may, I now 
began to feel the inspiration of a burning hope, and at length 30 
nurtured in my secret thoughts a stern and desperate resolu- 
tion that I would submit no longer to be enslaved. 

It was at Rome, during the Carnival of 18 — , that I attended 
a masquerade in the palazzo of the Neapolitan Duke Di 
Broglio. I had indulged more freely than usual in the excesses 35 



92 SELECTIONS FROM POE 

of the wine-table ; and now the suffocating atmosphere of the 
crowded rooms irritated me beyond endurance. The difficulty, 
too, of forcing my way through the mazes of the company 
contributed not a Httle to the ruffling of my temper; for I 

5 was anxiously seeking (let me not say with what unworthy 
motive) the young, the gay, the beautiful wife of the aged and 
doting Di Broglio. With a too unscrupulous confidence she 
had previously communicated to me the secret of the costume 
in which she would be habited, and now, having caught a 

lo glimpse of her person, I was hurrying to make my way into 
her presence. At this moment I felt a light hand placed upon 
my shoulder, and that ever-remembered, low, damnable whis- 
per within my ear. 

In an absolute frenzy of wrath, I turned at once upon him 

15 who had thus interrupted me, and seized him violently by .the 
collar. He was attired, as I had expected, in a costume alto- 
gether similar to my own ; wearing a Spanish cloak of blue 
velvet, begirt about the waist with a crimson belt sustaining a 
rapier. A mask of black silk entirely covered his face. 

20 "Scoundrel !" I said, in a voice husky with rage, while 
every syllable I uttered seemed as new fuel to my fury ; 
" scoundrel ! impostor ! accursed villain ! you shall not — you 
shall not dog me unto death ! Follow me, or I stab you where 
you stand ! " — and I broke my way from the ball-room into 

25 a small ante-chamber adjoining, dragging him unresistingly 
with me as I went. 

Upon entering, I thrust him furiously from me. He stag- 
gered against the wall, while I closed the door with an oath, 
and commanded him to draw. He hesitated but for an instant ; 

30 then, with a slight sigh, drew in silence, and put himself upon 
his defence. 

The contest was brief indeed. I was frantic with every 
species of wild excitement, and felt within my single arm the 
energy and power of a multitude. In a few seconds I forced 

35 him by sheer strength against the wainscoting, and thus, getting 



WILLIAM WILSON 93 

him at mercy, plunged my sword, with brute ferocity, repeatedly 
through and through his bosom. 

At that instant some person tried the latch of the door. I 
hastened to prevent an intrusion, and then immediately 
returned to my dying antagonist. But what human language 5 
can adequately portray that astonishment, that horror which 
possessed me at the spectacle then presented to view? The 
brief moment in which I averted my eyes had been sufficient 
to produce, apparently, a material change in the arrangements 
at the upper or farther end of the room. A large mirror — so 10 
at first it seemed to me in my confusion — now stood where 
none had been perceptible before ; and, as I stepped up to it 
in extremity of terror, mine own image, but with features all 
pale and dabbled in blood, advanced to meet me with a feeble 
and tottering gait. 15 

Thus it appeared, I say, but was not. It was my antagonist 
— it was Wilson, who then stood before me in the agonies of 
his dissolution. His mask and cloak lay, where he had thrown 
them, upon the floor. Not a thread in all his raiment — not 
a line in all the marked and singular lineaments of his face 20 
which was not, even in the most absolute identity, mine own f 

It was Wilson ; but he spoke no longer in a whisper, and I 
could have fancied that I myself was speaking while he said : — 

^^You have co?iquered^ and I yield. Vet, henceforward art 
thou also dead — dead to the World, to Heaven and to Hope I 25 
/// me didst thou exist — and, in my death, see by this image, 
which is thine own, how utterly thoic hast murdered thyself. ^^ 



A DESCENT INTO THE MAELSTROM 

The ways of God in Nature, as in Providence, are not as our 
ways ; nor are the models that we frame any way commensurate to the 
vastness, profundity, and unsearchableness of His works, which have 
a depth in them greater than the well of Democritus. 

Joseph Glanville 

We had now reached the summit of the loftiest crag. For 
some minutes the old man seemed too much exhausted to 
speak. 

" Not long ago," said he at length, " and I could have 
5 guided you on this route as well as the youngest of my sons ; 
but, about three years past, there happened to me an event 
such as never happened before to mortal man — or at least 
such as no man ever survived to tell of — and the six hours 
of deadly terror which I then endured have broken me up 

ID body and soul. You suppose me a ve^-y old man — but I am 
not. It took less than a single day to change these hairs from 
a jetty black to white, to weaken my limbs, and to unstring my 
nerves, so that I tremble at the least exertion, and am fright- 
ened at a shadow. Do you know I can scarcely look over this 

15 httle cliff without getting giddy? " 

The " little cliff," upon whose edge he had so carelessly 
thrown himself down to rest that the weightier portion of his 
body hung over it, while he was only kept from falling by the 
tenure of his elbow on its extreme and sHppery edge — this 

20 '•'■ little cliff " arose, a sheer unobstructed precipice of black 
shining rock, some fifteen or sixteen hundred feet from the 
world of crags beneath us. Nothing would have tempted me 
to within half a dozen yards of its brink. In truth so deeply 
was I excited by the perilous position of my companion, that 

94 



A DESCENT INTO THE MAELSTROM 95 

I fell at full length upon the ground, clung to the shrubs 
around me, and dared not even glance upward at the sky — 
while I struggled in vain to divest myself of the idea that the 
very foundations of the mountain were in danger from the 
fury of the winds. It was long before I could reason myself 5 
into sufficient courage to sit up and look out into the distance. 

" You must get over these fancies," said the guide, " for I 
have brought you here that you might have the best possible 
view of the scene of that event I mentioned — and to tell you 
the whole story with the spot just under your eye. 10 

" We are now," he continued, in that particularizing manner 
which distinguished him — ''we are now close upon the Nor- 
wegian coast — in the sixty-eighth degree of latitude — in the 
great province of Nordland — and in the dreary district of 
Lofoden. The mountain upon whose top we sit is Helseggen, 15 
the Cloudy. Now raise yourself up a httle higher — hold on 
to the grass if you feel giddy — so — and look out, beyond 
the belt of vapor beneath us, into the sea." 

I looked dizzily, and beheld a wide expanse of ocean, whose 
waters wore so inky a hue as to bring at once to my mind the 20 
Nubian geographer's account of the Mare Teriebrariim. A 
panorama more deplorably desolate no human imagination 
can conceive. To the right and left, as far as the eye could 
reach, there lay outstretched, like ramparts of the world, lines 
of horridly black and beetling cliff, whose character of gloom 25 
was but the more forcibly illustrated by the surf which reared 
high up against it its white and ghastly crest, howling and 
shrieking forever. Just opposite the promontory upon whose 
apex we were placed, and at a distance of some five or six 
miles out at sea, there was visible a small, bleak-looking island ; 30 
or, more properly, its position was discernible through the 
wilderness of surge in which it was enveloped. About two 
miles nearer the land arose another of smaller size, hideously 
craggy and barren, and encompassed at various intervals by 
a cluster of dark rocks. 35 



96 SELECTIONS FROM POE 

The appearance of the ocean, in the space between the 
more distant island and the shore, had something very unusual 
about it. Although, at the time, so strong a gale was blowing 
landward that a brig in the remote offing lay to under a double- 
5 reefed trysail, and constantly plunged her whole hull out of 
sight, still there was here nothing like a regular swell, but only 
a short, quick, angry cross dashing of water in every direction 
— as well in the teeth of the wind as otherwise. Of foam 
there was little except in the immediate vicinity of the rocks. 

10 "The island in the distance," resumed the old man, "is 
called by the Norwegians Vurrgh. The one midway is Moskoe. 
That a mile to the northward is Ambaaren. Yonder are 
Iflesen, Hoeyholm, Kieldholm, Suarven, and Buckholm. 
Farther off — between Moskoe and Vurrgh — are Otterholm, 

15 Flimen, Sandflesen, and Skarholm. These are the true names 

of the places — but why it has been thought necessary to name 

them at all is more than either you or I can understand. Do 

you hear anything? Do you see any change in the water? " 

We had now been about ten minutes upon the top of Hel- 

20 seggen, to which we had ascended from the interior of Lofo- 
den, so that we had caught no glimpse of the sea until it had 
burst upon us from the summit. As the old man spoke, I 
became aware of a loud and gradually increasing sound, like 
the moaning of a vast herd of buffaloes upon an American 

25 prairie ; and at the same moment I perceived that what sea- 
men term the r//c7///;/o- character of the ocean beneath us, was 
rapidly changing into a current which set to the eastward. 
Even while I gazed, this current acquired a monstrous velocity. 
Each moment added to its speed — to its headlong impetu- 

30 osity. In five minutes the whole sea, as far as Vurrgh, was 
lashed into ungovernable fury; but it was between Moskoe 
and the coast that the main uproar held its sway. Here the 
vast bed of the waters, seamed and scarred into a thousand 
conflicting channels, burst suddenly into frenzied convulsion — 

35 heaving, boiling, hissing — gyrating in gigantic and innumerable 






I 



A DESCENT INTO THE MAELSTROM 97 

vortices, and all whirling and plunging on to the eastward 
with a rapidity which water never elsewhere assumes, except 
in precipitous descents. 

In a few minutes more, there came over the scene another 
radical alteration. The general surface grew somewhat more 5 
smooth, and the whirlpools, one by one, disappeared, while 
prodigious streaks of foam became apparent where none had 
been seen before. These streaks, at length, spreading out to 
a great distance, and entering into combination, took unto 
themselves the gyratory motion of the subsided vortices, and 10 
seemed to form the germ of another more vast. Suddenly — 
very suddenly — this assumed a distinct and definite existence, 
in a circle of more than a mile in diameter. The edge of the 
whirl was represented by a broad belt of gleaming spray ; but 
no particle of this slipped into the mouth of the terrific funnel, 1 5 
whose interior, as far as the eye could fathom it, was a smooth, 
shining, and jet-black wall of water, inclined to the horizon at 
an angle of some forty-five degrees, speeding dizzily round 
and round with a swaying and sweltering motion, and sending 
forth to the winds an appalling voice, half shriek, half roar, 20 
such as not even the mighty cataract of Niagara ever lifts up 
in its agony to Heaven. 

The mountain trembled to its very base, and the rock 
rocked. I threw myself upon my face, and clung to the scant 
herbage in an excess of nervous agitation. 25 

''This," said I at length, to the old man — "this can be 
nothing else than the great whirlpool of the Maelstrom." 

" So it is sometimes termed," said he. " We Norwegians 
call it the Moskoe-strom, from the island of Moskoe in the 
midway." 30 

The ordinary accounts of this vortex had by no means pre- 
pared me for what I saw. That of Jonas Ramus, which is 
perhaps the most circumstantial of any, cannot impart the 
faintest conception either of the magnificence or of the horror 
of the scene — or of the wild bewildering sense of the novel 35 



98 SELECTIONS FROM POE 

which confounds the beholder. I am not sure from what point 
of view the writer in question surveyed it, nor at what time ; 
but it could neither have been from the summit of Helseggen, 
nor during a storm. There are some passages of his descrip- 

5 tion, nevertheless, which may be quoted for their details, 
although their effect is exceedingly feeble in conveying an 
impression of the spectacle. 

"Between Lofoden and Moskoe," he says, "the depth of 
the water is between thirty-six and forty fathoms ; but on the 

lo other side, toward Ver (Vurrgh), this depth decreases so as 
not to afford a convenient passage for a vessel, without the 
risk of splitting on the rocks, which happens even in the 
calmest weather. When it is flood, the stream runs up 
the country between Lofoden and Moskoe with a boisterous 

15 rapidity; but the roar of its impetuous ebb to the sea is 
scarce equalled by the loudest and most dreadful cataracts, 
the noise being heard several leagues off ; and the vortices or 
pits are of such an extent and depth, that if a ship comes 
within its attraction, it is inevitably absorbed and carried 

20 down to the bottom, and there beat to pieces against the 
rocks; and when the water relaxes, the fragments thereof 
are thrown up again. But these intervals of tranquillity are 
only at the turn of the ebb and flood, and in calm weather, 
and last but a quarter of an hour, its violence gradually return- 

25 ing. When the stream is most boisterous, and its fury height- 
ened by a storm, it is dangerous to come within a Norway 
mile of it. Boats, yachts, and ships have been carried away 
by not guarding against it before they were within its reach. 
It likewise happens frequently that whales come too near the 

30 stream, and are overpowered by its violence ; and then it is 
impossible to describe their bowlings and bellowings in their 
fruitless struggles to disengage themselves. A bear once, 
attempting to swim from Lofoden to Moskoe, was caught by 
the stream and borne down, while he roared terribly, so as to 

35 be heard on shore. Large stocks of firs and pine trees, after 



A DESCENT INTO THE MAELSTROM 99 

being absorbed by the current, rise again broken and torn to 
such a degree as if bristles grew upon them. This plainly 
shows the bottom to consist of craggy rocks, among which 
they are whirled to and fro. This stream is regulated by the 
flux and reflux of the sea — it being constantly high and low 5 
water every six hours. In the year 1645, early in the morning 
of Sexagesima Sunday, it raged with such noise and impetu- 
osity that the very stones of the houses on the coast fell to 
the ground." 

In regard to the depth of the water, I could not see how 10 
this could have been ascertained at all in the immediate vicin- 
ity of the vortex. The " forty fathoms " must have reference 
only to portions of the channel close upon the shore either of 
Moskoe or Lofoden. The depth in the centre of the Moskoe- 
strom must be immeasurably greater; and no better proof of 15 
this fact is necessary than can be obtained from even the 
sidelong glance into the abyss of the whirl which may be had 
from the highest crag of Helseggen. Looking down from this 
pinnacle upon the howling Phlegethon below, I could not 
help smiling at the simplicity with which the honest Jonas 20 
Ramus records, as a matter difficult of belief, the anecdotes 
of the whales and the bears; for it appeared to me, in fact, 
a self-evident thing that the largest ships of the line in exist- 
ence, coming within the influence of that deadly attraction, 
could resist it as little as a feather the hurricane, and must 25 
disappear bodily and at once. 

The attempts to account for the phenomenon — some of 
which, I remember, seemed to me sufficiently plausible in 
perusal — now wore a very different and unsatisfactory aspect. 
The idea generally received is that this, as well as three 30 
smaller vortices among the Feroe Islands, '* have no other 
cause than the collision of waves rising and falling, at flux 
and reflux, against a ridge of rocks and shelves, which con- 
fines the water so that it precipitates itself like a cataract ; 
and thus the higher the flood rises, the deeper must the fall 35 

I . OF r 



100 SELECTIONS FROM POE 

be, and the natural result of all is a whirlpool or vortex, the 
prodigious suction of which is sufficiently known by lesser 
experiments." — These are the words of the "Encyclopaedia 
Britannica." Kircher and others imagine that in the centre 
5 of the channel of the Maelstrom is an abyss penetrating the 
globe, and issuing in some very remote part — the Gulf of 
Bothnia being somewhat decidedly named in one instance. 
This opinion, idle in itself, was the one to which, as I gazed, 
my imagination most readily assented ; and, mentioning it to 

lo the guide, I was rather surprised to hear him say that, although 
it was the view almost universally entertained of the subject 
by the Norwegians, it nevertheless was not his own. As to 
the former notion he confessed his inability to comprehend 
it; and here I agreed with him — for, however conclusive on 

15 paper, it becomes altogether unintelligible, and even absurd, 
amid the thunder of the abyss. 

" You have had a good look at the whirl now," said the old 
man, " and if you will creep round this crag, so as to get in 
its lee, and deaden the roar of the water, I will tell you a 

20 story that will convince you I ought to know something of 
the Moskoe-strom." 

I placed myself as desired, and he proceeded. 
" Myself and my two brothers once owned a schooner-rigged 
smack of about seventy tons burden, with which we were in 

25 the habit of fishing among the islands beyond Moskoe, nearly 
to Vurrgh. In all violent eddies at sea there is good fishing, 
at proper opportunities, if one has only the courage to attempt 
it; but among the whole of the Lofoden coastmen we three 
wer£ the only ones who made a regular business of going out 

30 to the islands, as I tell you. The usual grounds are a great 
way lower down to the southward. There fish can be got at 
all hours, without much risk, and therefore these places are 
preferred. The choice spots over here among the rocks, how- 
ever, not only yield the finest variety, but in far greater 

35 abundance; so that we often got in a single day what the 



A DESCENT INTO THE MAELSTROM lOI 

more timid of the craft could not scrape together in a week. 
In fact, we made it a matter of desperate speculation — the 
risk of life standing instead of labor, and courage answering 
for capital. 

" We kept the smack in a cove about five miles higher up 5 
the coast than this ; and it was our practice, in fine weather, 
to take advantage of the fifteen minutes' slack to push across 
the main channel of the Moskoe-strom, far above the pool, 
and then drop down upon anchorage somewhere near Otter- 
holm, or Sandflesen, where the eddies are not so violent as 10 
elsewhere. Here we used to remain until nearly time for 
slack-water again, when we weighed and made for home. We 
never set out upon this expedition without a steady side wind 
for going and coming — one that we felt sure would not fail 
us before our return — and we seldom made a miscalculation 15 
upon this point. Twice, during six years, we were forced to 
stay all night at anchor on account of a dead calm, which is a 
rare thing indeed just about here ; and once we had to remain 
on the grounds nearly a week, starving to death, owing to a 
gale which blew up shortly after our arrival, and made the 20 
channel too boisterous to be thought of. Upon this occasion 
we should have been driven out to sea in spite of everything 
(for the whirlpools threw us round and round so violently, 
that, at length, we fouled our anchor and dragged it) if it had 
not been that we drifted into one of the innumerable cross 25 
currents — here to-day and gone to-morrow — which drove us 
under the lee of Flimen, where, by good luck, we brought up. 

" I could not tell you the twentieth part of the difficulties 
we encountered 'on the ground ' — it is a bad spot to be in, 
even in good weather — but we made shift always to run the 30 
gauntlet of the Moskoe-strom itself without accident ; although 
at times my heart has been in my mouth when we happened 
to be a minute or so behind or before the slack. The wind 
sometimes was not as strong as we thought it at starting, and 
then we made rather less way than we could wish, while the 35 



102 SELECTIONS FROM POE 

current rendered the smack unmanageable. My eldest brother 
had a son eighteen years old, and I had two stout boys of my 
own. These would have been of great assistance at such times, 
in using the sweeps, as well as afterward in fishing — but, 

5 somehow, although we ran the risk ourselves, we had not the 

heart to let the young ones get into the danger — for, after all 

said and done, it was a horrible danger, and that is the truth. 

" It is now within a few days of three years since what I am 

going to tell you occurred. It was on the tenth of July, i8 — , 

lo a day which the people of this part of the world will never 
forget — for it was one in which blew the most terrible hurri- 
cane that ever came out of the heavens. And yet all the 
morning, and indeed until late in the afternoon, there was a 
gentle and steady breeze from the south-west, while the sun 

15 shone brightly, so that the oldest seamen among us could not 
have forseen what was to follow. 

" The three of us — my two brothers and myself — had 
crossed over to the islands about two o'clock P.M., and soon 
nearly loaded the smack with fine fish, which, we all remarked, 

20 were more plenty that day than we had ever known them. It 
was just seven, by my watch, when we weighed and started for 
home, so as to make the worst of the Strom at slack water, 
which we knew would be at eight. 

" We set out with a fresh wind on our starboard quarter, and 

25 for some time spanked along at a great rate, never dreaming 
of danger, for indeed we saw not the slightest reason to appre- 
hend it. All at once we were taken aback by a breeze from 
over Helseggen. This was most unusual — something that 
had never happened to us before — and I began to feel a 

30 little uneasy, without exactly knowing why. We put the boat 
on the wind, but could make no headway at all for the eddies, 
and I was upon the point of proposing to return to the anchor- 
age, when, looking astern, we saw the whole horizon covered 
with a singular copper-colored cloud that rose with the most 

35 amazing velocity. 



A DESCENT INTO THE MAELSTROM 103 

" In the meantime the breeze that had headed us off fell 
away, and we were dead becalmed, drifting about in every 
direction. This state of things, however, did not last long 
enough to give us time to think about it. In less than a 
minute the storm was upon us — in less than two the sky was 5 
entirely overcast — and what with this and the driving spray, 
it became suddenly so dark that we could not see each other 
in the smack. 

" Such a hurricane as then blew it is folly to attempt 
describing. The oldest seaman in Norway never experienced 10 
anything like it. We had let our sails go by the run before it 
cleverly took us ; but, at the first puff, both our masts went by 
the board as if they had been sawed off — the mainmast tak- 
ing with it my youngest brother, who had lashed himself to it 
for safety. 15 

" Our boat was the Hghtest feather of a thing that ever sat 
upon water. It had a complete flush deck, with only a small 
hatch near the bow, and this hatch it had always been our 
custom to batten down when about to cross the Strom, by way 
of precaution against the chopping seas. But for this circum- 20 
stance we should have foundered at once — for we lay entirely 
buried for some moments. How my elder brother escaped 
destruction I cannot say, for I never had an opportunity of 
ascertaining. For my part, as soon as I had let the foresail 
run, I threw myself flat on deck, with my feet against the 25 
narrow gunwale of the bow, and with my hands grasping a 
ring-bolt near the foot of the foremast. It was mere instinct 
that prompted me to do this — which was undoubtedly the 
very best thing I could have done — for I was too much 
flurried to think. 30 

'' For some moments we were completely deluged, as I say, 
and all this time I held my breath, and clung to the bolt. 
When I could stand it no longer I raised myself upon my 
knees, still keeping hold with my hands, and thus got my 
head clear. Presently our Httle boat gave herself a shake, 35 



I04 SELECTIONS FROM POE 

just as a dog does in coming out of the water, and thus rid 
herself, in some measure, of the seas. I was now trying to get 
the better of the stupor that had come over me, and to collect 
my senses so as to see what was to be done, when I felt some- 

5 body grasp my arm. It was my elder brother, and my heart 
leaped for joy, for I had made sure that he was overboard — 
but the next moment all this joy was turned into horror — for 
he put his mouth close to my ear, and screamed out the word 
* Moskoe- Strom ! ' 

lo '' No one will ever know what my feelings were at that 
moment. I shook from head to foot as if I had had the most 
violent fit of the ague. I knew what he meant by that one 
word well enough — I knew what he wished to make me 
understand. With the wind that now drove us on, we were 

15 bound for the whirl of the Strom, and nothing could save us ! 

"You perceive that in crossing the Strom channel, we 

always went a long way up above the whirl, even in the 

calmest weather, and then had to wait and watch carefully for 

the slack — but now we were driving right upon the pool itself, 

20 and in such a hurricane as this ! ' To be sure,' I thought, 'we 
shall get there just about the slack — there is some little hope 
in that — but in the next moment I cursed myself for being 
so great a fool as to dream of hope at all. I knew very well 
that we were doomed, had we been ten times a ninety-gun 

25 ship. 

" By this time the first fury of the tempest had spent itself, 
or perhaps we did not feel it so much as we scudded before 
it; but at all events the seas, which at first had been kept 
down by the wind, and lay flat and frothing, now got up into 

30 absolute mountains. A singular change, too, had come over 
the heavens. Around in every direction it was still as black as 
pitch, but nearly overhead there burst out, all at once, a cir- 
cular rift of clear sky — as clear as I ever saw — and of a deep 
bright blue — and through it there blazed forth the full moon 

35 with a lustre that I never before knew her to wear. She Ht 



A DESCENT INTO THE MAELSTROM 105 

up everything about us with the greatest distinctness — but, 
oh God, what a scene it was to Hght up ! 

" I now made one or two attempts to speak to my brother 
— but, in some manner which I could not understand, the din 
had so increased that I could not make him hear a single 5 
word, although I screamed at the top of my voice in his ear. 
Presently he shook his head, looking as pale as death, and held 
up one of his fingers, as if to say listen I 

''At first I could not make out what he meant — but soon 
a hideous thought flashed upon me. I dragged my watch from 10 
its fob. It was not going. I glanced at its face by the moon- 
light, and then burst into tears as I flung it far away into the 
ocean. // had run down at seven 0' clock ! We were behind 
the time of the slacks and the whirl of the Strom was in full 
fury! 15 

" When a boat is well built, properly trimmed, and not deep 
laden, the waves in a strong gale, when she is going large, seem 
always to slip from beneath her — which appears very strange 
to a landsman — and this is what is called riding, in sea phrase. 

" Well, so far we had ridden the swells very cleverly ; but 20 
presently a gigantic sea happened to take us right under the 
counter, and bore us with it as it rose — up — up — as if into 
the sky. I would not have believed that any wave could rise 
so high. And then down we came with a sweep, a sHde, and 
a plunge, that made me feel sick and dizzy, as if I was falling 25 
from some lofty mountain-top in a dream. But while we were 
up I had thrown a quick glance around — and that one glance 
was all sufficient. I saw our exact position in an instant. The 
Moskoe-strom whirlpool was about a quarter of a mile dead 
ahead — but no more like the every-day Moskoe-strom, than 30 
the whirl as you now see it is like a mill-race. If I had not 
known where we were, and what we had to expect, I should 
not have recognized the place at all. As it was, I involuntarily 
closed my eyes in horror. The lids clenched themselves 
together as if in a spasm. 35 



I06 SELECTIONS FROM POE 

" It could not have been more than two minutes afterwards 
until we suddenly felt the waves subside, and were enveloped 
in foam. The boat made a sharp half turn to larboard, and 
then shot off in its new direction like a thunderbolt. At the 

5 same moment the roaring noise of the water was completely 
drowned in a kind of shrill shriek — such a sound as you might 
imagine given out by the water-pipes of many thousand steam- 
vessels, letting off their steam all together. We were now in 
the belt of surf that always surrounds the whirl ; and I thought, 

lo of course, that another moment would plunge us into the abyss 
— down which we could only see indistinctly on account of the 
amazing velocity with w^hich we were borne along. The boat 
did not seem to sink into the water at all, but to skim like an 
air-bubble upon the surface of the surge. Her starboard side 

15 was next the whirl, and on the larboard arose the world of 
ocean we had left. It stood like a huge writhing wall between 
us and the horizon. 

'' It may appear strange, but now, when we were in the 
very jaws of the gulf, I felt more composed than when we were 

20 only approaching it. Having made up my mind to hope no 
more, I got rid of a great deal of that terror which unmanned 
me at first. I suppose it was despair that strung my nerves. 

*' It may look like boasting — but what I tell you is truth — 
I began to reflect how magnificent a thing it was to die in such 

25 a manner, and how foolish it was in me to think of so paltry a 
consideration as my own individual life, in view of so wonder- 
ful a manifestation of God's power. I do believe that I blushed 
with shame when this idea crossed my mind. After a little 
while I became possessed with the keenest curiosity about the 

30 whirl itself. I positively felt a wish to explore its depths, even 
at the sacrifice I was going to make ; and my principal grief 
was that I should never be able to tell my old companions 
on shore about the mysteries I should see. These, no doubt, 
were singular fancies to occupy a man's mind in such extrem- 

35 ity — and I have often thought, since, that the revolutions 



A DESCENT INTO THE MAELSTROM lo; 

of the boat around the pool might have rendered me a Httle 
light-headed. 

" There was another circumstance which tended to restore 
my self-possession ; and this was the cessation of the wind, 
which could not reach us in our present situation — for, as 5 
you saw yourself, the belt of surf is considerably lower than the 
general bed of the ocean, and this latter now towered above us, 
a high, black, mountainous ridge. If you have never been at sea 
in a heavy gale, you can form no idea of the confusion of mind 
occasioned by the wind and spray together. They blind, deafen, 10 
and strangle you, and take away all power of action or reflec- 
tion. But we were now, in a great measure, rid of these annoy- 
ances — just as death-condemned felons in prison are allowed 
petty indulgences, forbidden them while their doom is yet 
uncertain. 15 

" How often we made the circuit of the belt it is impossible 
to say. We careered round and round for perhaps an hour, 
flying rather than floating, getting gradually more and more 
into the middle of the surge, and then nearer and nearer to its 
horrible inner edge. All this time I had never let go of the ring- 20 
bolt. My brother was at the stern, holding on to a small empty 
water-cask which had been securely lashed under the coop of 
the counter, and was the only thing on deck that had not been 
swept overboard when the gale first took us. As we approached 
the brink of the pit he let go his hold upon this, and made for 25 
the ring, from which, in the agony of his terror, he endeavored 
to force my hands, as it was not large enough to afford us both 
a secure grasp. I never felt deeper grief than when I saw him 
attempt this act — although I knew he was a madman when 
he did it — a raving maniac through sheer fright. I did not 30 
care, however, to contest the point wnth him. I knew it could 
make no difference whether either of us held on at all ; so I 
let him have the bolt, and went astern to the cask. This there 
was no great difficulty in doing; for the smack flew round 
steadily enough, and upon an even keel — only swaying to 35 



I08 SELECTIONS FROM POE 

and fro, with the immense sweeps and swelters of the whirl. 
Scarcely had I secured myself in my new position, when we 
gave a wild lurch to starboard, and rushed headlong into the 
abyss. I muttered a hurried prayer to God, and thought all 

5 was over. 

" As I felt the sickening sweep of the descent, I had instinc- 
tively tightened my hold upon the barrel, and closed my eyes. 
For some seconds I dared not open them — while I expected 
instant destruction, and wondered that I was not already in 

lo my death-struggles with the water. But moment after moment 
elapsed. I still lived. The sense of falling had ceased; and 
the motion of the vessel seemed much as it had been before, 
while in the belt of foam, with the exception that she now lay 
more along. I took courage and looked once again upon the 

15 scene. 

'' Never shall I forget the sensations of awe, horror, and 
admiration with which I gazed about me. The boat appeared 
to be hanging, as if by magic, midway down, upon the interior 
surface of a funnel vast in circumference, prodigious in depth, 

20 and whose perfectly smooth sides might have been mistaken 
for ebony, but for the bewildering rapidity with which they 
spun around, and for the gleaming and ghastly radiance they 
shot forth, as the rays of the full moon, from that circular rift 
amid the clouds, which I have already described, streamed in 

25 a flood of golden glory along the black walls, and far away 
down into the inmost recesses of the abyss. 

" At first I was too much confused to observe anything 
accurately. The general burst of terrific grandeur was all that 
I beheld. When I recovered myself a little, however, my gaze 

30 fell instinctively downward. In this direction I was able to 
obtain an unobstructed view, from the manner in which the 
smack hung on the inclined surface of the pool. She was quite 
upon an even keel — that is to say, her deck lay in a plane 
parallel with that of the water — but this latter sloped at an 

35 angle of more than forty-five degrees, so that we seemed to be 



I 



A DESCENT INTO THE MAELSTROM 109 

lying upon our beam-ends. I could not help observing, never- 
theless, that I had scarcely more difficulty in maintaining my 
hold and footing in this situation, than if we had been upon a 
dead level; and this, I suppose, was owing to the speed at 
which we revolved. 5 

'' The rays of the moon seemed to search the very bottom 
of the profound gulf ; but still I could make out nothing dis- 
tinctly, on account of a thick mist in which everything there 
was enveloped, and over which there hung a magnificent rain- 
bow, like that narrow and tottering bridge which Mussulmans 10 
say is the only pathway between Time and Eternity. This 
mist, or spray, was no doubt occasioned by the clashing of the 
great walls of the funnel, as they all met together at the 
bottom — but the yell that went up to the heavens from out 
of that mist, I dare not attempt to describe. 15 

" Our first slide into the abyss itself, from the belt of foam 
above, had carried us to a great distance down the slope ; but 
our farther descent was by no means proportionate. Round 
and round we swept — not with any uniform movement but 
in dizzying swings and jerks, that sent us sometimes only a 20 
few hundred yards — sometimes nearly the complete circuit of 
the whirl. Our progress downward, at each revolution, was 
slow, but very perceptible. 

" Looking about me upon the wide waste of liquid ebony on 
which we were thus borne, I perceived that our boat was not 25 
the only object in the embrace of the whirl. Both above and 
below us were visible fragments of vessels, large masses of 
building timber and trunks of trees, with many smaller articles, 
such as pieces of house furniture, broken boxes, barrels, and 
staves. I have already described the unnatural curiosity which 30 
had taken the place of my original terrors. It appeared to 
grow upon me as I drew nearer and nearer to my dreadful 
doom. I now began to watch, with a strange interest, the 
numerous things that floated in our company. I must have 
been delirious — for I even sought amusement in speculating 35 



no SELECTIONS FROM POE 

upon the relative velocities of their several descents toward the 
foam below. ' This fir tree,' I found myself at one time saying, 
' will certainly be the next thing that takes the awful plunge 
and disappears,' — and then I was disappointed to find that 
5 the wreck of a Dutch merchant ship overtook it and went down 
before. At length, after making several guesses of this nature, 
and being deceived in all — this fact — the fact of my invariable 
miscalculation, set me upon a train of reflection that made my 
limbs again tremble, and my heart beat heavily once more. 

10 " It was not a new terror that thus affected me, but the 
dawn of a more exciting hope. This hope arose partly from 
memory, and partly from present observation. I called to 
mind the great variety of buoyant matter that strewed the 
coast of Lofoden, having been absorbed and then thrown forth 

15 by the Moskoe-strom. By far the greater number of the arti- 
cles were shattered in the most extraordinary way — so chafed 
and roughened as to have the appearance of being stuck full 
of splinters — but then I distinctly recollected that there were 
some of them which were not disfigured at all. Now I could 

20 not account for this difference except by supposing that the 
roughened fragments were the only ones which had been com- 
pletely abso7'bed — that the others had entered the whirl at so 
late a period of the tide, or, from some reason, had descended 
so slowly after entering, that they did not reach the bottom 

25 before the turn of the flood came, or of the ebb, as the case 
might be. I conceived it possible, in either instance, that 
they might thus be whirled up again to the level of the ocean, 
without undergoing the fate of those which had been drawn 
in more early or absorbed more rapidly. I made, also, three 

30 important observations. The first was, that as a general rule, 
the larger the bodies were, the more rapid their descent ; the 
second, that, between two masses of equal extent, the one 
spherical, and the other of any other shape, the superiority in 
speed of descent was with the sphere ; the third, that, between 

35 two masses of equal size, the one cylindrical, and the other of 



A DESCENT INTO THE MAELSTROM III 

any other shape, the cylinder was absorbed the more slowly. 
Since my escape, I have had several conversations on this sub- 
ject with an old schoolmaster of the district ; and it was from 
him that I learned the use of the words 'cylinder' and 'sphere.' 
He explained to me — although I have forgotten the explanation 5 
— how what I observed was, in fact, the natural consequence 
of the forms of the floating fragments, and showed me how it 
happened that a cylinder, swimming in a vortex, offered more 
resistance to its suction, and was drawn in with greater diffi- 
culty, than an equally bulky body, of any form whatever.^ lo 

"There was one startling circumstance which went a great 
way in enforcing these observations, and rendering me anxious 
to turn them to account, and this was that, at every revolution, 
we passed something like a barrel, or else the yard or the mast 
of a vessel, while many of these things, which had been on our ^5 
level when I first opened my eyes upon the wonders of the 
whirlpool, were now high up above us, and seemed to have 
moved but little from their original station. 

"I no longer hesitated what to do. I resolved to lash my- 
self securely to the water cask upon which I now held, to cut 20 
it loose from the counter, and to throw myself with it into the 
water. I attracted my brother's attention by signs, pointed to 
the floating barrels that came near us, and did everything in 
my power to make him understand what I was about to do. 
I thought at length that he comprehended my design — but, 25 
whether this was the case or not, he shook his head despair- 
ingly, and refused to move from his station by the ring-bolt. 
It was impossible to reach him ; the emergency admitted of 
no delay ; and so, with a bitter struggle, I resigned him to his 
fate, fastened myself to the cask by means of the lashings 30 
which secured it to the counter, and precipitated myself with 
it into the sea, without another moment's hesitation. 

" The result was precisely what I had hoped it might be. 
As it is myself who now tell you this tale — as you see that I 
1 See Archimedes, De its Qucc in Himiido VeJnintur, lib ii. 



112 SELECTIONS FROM POE 

did escape — and as you are already in possession of the mode 
in which this escape was effected, and must therefore anticipate 
all that I have farther to say — I will bring my story quickly 
to conclusion. It might have been an hour, or thereabout, 
5 after my quitting the smack, when, having descended to a 
vast distance beneath me, it made three or four wild gyrations 
in rapid succession, and, bearing my loved brother with it, 
plunged headlong, at once and forever, into the chaos of foam 
below. The barrel to which I was attached sunk very little 

10 farther than half the distance between the bottom of the gulf 
and the spot at which I leaped overboard, before a great change 
took place in the character of the whirlpool. The slope of the 
sides of the vast funnel became momently less and less steep. 
The gyrations of the whirl grew, gradually, less and less violent. 

15 By degrees, the froth and the rainbow disappeared, and the 
bottom of the gulf seemed slowly to uprise. The sky was clear, 
the winds had gone down, and the full moon was setting 
radiantly in the west, when I found myself on the surface of 
the ocean, in full view of the shores of Lofoden, and above the 

20 spot where the pool of the Moskoe-strom had been. It was the 
hour of the slack, but the sea still heaved in mountainous 
waves from the effects of the hurricane. I was borne violently 
into the channel of the Strom, and in a few minutes was hurried 
down the coast into the * grounds ' of the fishermen. A boat 

25 picked me up — exhausted from fatigue — and (now that the 
danger was removed) speechless from the memory of its horror. 
Those who drew me on board were my old mates and daily 
companions, but they knew me no more than they would have 
known a traveller from the spirit-land. My hair, which had 

30 been raven-black the day before, was as white as you see it now. 
They say too that the whole expression of my countenance had 
changed. I told them my story — they did not believe it. I 
now tell it to you — and I can scarcely expect you to put more 
faith in it than did the merry fishermen of Lofoden." 



THE MASQUE OF THE RED DEATH 

(northern Italy) 

The " Red Death " had long devastated the country. No 
pestilence had ever been so fatal, or so hideous. Blood was its 
avatar and its seal — the redness and the horror of blood. 
There were sharp pains, and sudden dizziness, and then pro- 
fuse bleeding at the pores, with dissolution. The scarlet stains 5 
upon the body, and especially upon the face, of the victim 
were the pest ban which shut him out from the aid and from 
the sympathy of his fellow-men. And the whole seizure, prog- 
ress, and termination of the disease were the incidents of half 
an hour. lo 

But the Prince Prospero was happy and dauntless and saga- 
cious. When his dominions were half depopulated, he sum- 
moned to his presence a thousand hale and light-hearted friends 
from among the knights and dames of his court, and with these 
retired to the deep seclusion of one of his castellated abbeys. 15 
This was an extensive and magnificent structure, the creation 
of the Prince's own eccentric yet august taste. A strong and 
lofty wall girdled it in. This wall had gates of iron. The 
courtiers, having entered, brought furnaces and massy ham- 
mers, and welded the bolts. They resolved to leave means 20 
neither of ingress or egress to the sudden impulses of despair 
or of frenzy from within. The abbey was amply provisioned. 
With such precautions the courtiers might bid defiance to 
contagion. The external world could take care of itself. In 
the meantime it was folly to grieve, or to think. The Prince had 25 
provided all the appliances of pleasure. There were buffoons, 
there were improvisatori, there were ballet-dancers, there were 
musicians, there was Beauty, there was wine. All these and 
security were within. Without was the *' Red Death." 

"3 



114 SELECTIONS FROM POE 

It was toward the close of the fifth or sixth month of his 
seclusion, and while the pestilence raged most furiously abroad, 
that the Prince Prospero entertained his thousand friends at a 
masked ball of the most unusual magnificence. 
5 It was a voluptuous scene, that masquerade. But first let 
me tell of the rooms in which it was held. There were seven 
— an imperial suite. In many palaces, however, such suites 
form a long and straight vista, while the folding-doors slide 
back nearly to the walls on either hand, so that the view of 

10 the whole extent is scarcely impeded. Here the case was very 
different, as might have been expected from the Prince's love 
of the bizarre. The apartments were so irregularly disposed 
that the vision embraced but Httle more than one at a time. 
There was a sharp turn at every twenty or thirty yards, and 

15 at each turn a novel effect. To the right and left, in the 
middle of each wall, a tall and narrow Gothic window looked 
out upon a closed corridor which pursued the windings of the 
suite. These windows were of stained glass, whose color varied 
in accordance with the prevailing hue of the decorations of the 

20 chamber into which it opened. That at the eastern extremity 
was hung, for example, in blue — and vividly blue were its 
windows. The second chamber was purple in its ornaments 
and tapestries, and here the panes were purple. The third 
was green throughout, and so were the casements. The fourth 

25 was furnished and lighted with orange, the fifth with white, 
the sixth with violet. The seventh apartment was closely 
shrouded in black velvet tapestries that hung all over the ceil- 
ing and down the walls, falling in heavy folds upon a carpet of 
the same material and hue. But, in this chamber only, the 

30 color of the windows failed to correspond with the decorations. 
The panes here were scarlet — a deep blood-color. Now in no 
one of the seven apartments was there any lamp or candela- 
brum, amid the profusion of golden ornaments that lay scattered 
to and fro or depended from the roof. There was no light of 

35 any kind emanating from lamp or candle within the suite of 



THE MASQUE OF THE RED DEATH 115 

chambers. But in the corridors that followed the suite there 
stood, opposite to each window, a heavy tripod, bearing a 
brazier of fire, that projected its rays through the tinted glass 
and so glaringly illumined the room. And thus were produced 
a multitude of gaudy and fantastic appearances. But in the 5 
western or black chamber the effect of the firelight that 
streamed upon the dark hangings through the blood-tinted 
panes was ghastly in the extreme, and produced so wild a look 
upon the countenances of those who entered that there were 
few of the company bold enough to set foot within its precincts 10 
at all. 

It was in this apartment, also, that there stood against the 
western wall a gigantic clock of ebony. Its pendulum swung 
to and fro with a dull, heavy, monotonous clang ; and when 
the minute-hand made the circuit of the face, and the hour 15 
was to be stricken, there came from the brazen lungs of the 
clock a sound which was clear and loud and deep and exceed- 
ingly musical, but of so peculiar a note and emphasis that, at 
each lapse of an hour, the musicians of the orchestra were con- 
strained to pause, momentarily, in their performance, to 20 
hearken to the sound ; and thus the waltzers perforce ceased 
their evolutions ; and there was a brief disconcert of the 
whole gay company ; and, while the chimes of the clock yet 
rang, it was observed that the giddiest grew pale, and the 
more aged and sedate passed their hands over their brows as 25 
if in confused revery or meditation. But when the echoes had 
fully ceased, a hght laughter at once pervaded the assembly ; 
the musicians looked at each other and smiled as if at their 
own nervousness and folly, and made whispering vows, each to 
the other, that the next chiming of the clock should produce 30 
in them no similar emotion ; and then, after the lapse of sixty 
minutes (which embrace three thousand and six hundred 
seconds of the Time that flies) there came yet another chim- 
ing of the clock, and then were the same disconcert and 
tremulousness and meditation as before. 35 



Il6 SELECTIONS FROM POE 

But, in spite of these things, it was a gay and magnificent 
revel. The tastes of the Prince were peculiar. He had a fine 
eye for colors and effects. He disregarded the decora of mere 
fashion. His plans were bold and fiery, and his conceptions 
5 glowed with barbaric lustre. There are some who would have 
thought him mad. His followers felt that he was not. It was 
necessary to hear and see and touch him to be sure that he 
was not. 

He had directed, in great part, the movable embellishments 

10 of the seven chambers, upon occasion of this great feic ; and 
it was his own guiding taste which had given character to the 
masqueraders. Be sure they were grotesque. There were much 
glare and glitter and piquancy and phantasm — much of what 
has been since seen in Her?iani. There were arabesque figures 

15 with unsuited limbs and appointments. There were dehrious 
fancies such as the madman fashions. There was much of the 
beautiful, much of the wanton, much of the bizarre, something 
of the terrible, and not a little of that which might have excited 
disgust. To and fro in the seven chambers there stalked, in 

20 fact, a multitude of dreams. And these — the dreams — 
writhed in and about, taking hue from the rooms, and causing 
the wild music of the orchestra to seem as the echo of their 
steps. And, anon, there strikes the ebony clock which stands 
in the hall of the velvet. And then, for a moment, all is still, 

25 and all is silent save the voice of the clock. The dreams are 
stiff-frozen as they stand. But the echoes of the chime die 
away — they have endured but an instant — and a light, half- 
subdued laughter floats after them as they depart. And now 
again the music swells, and the dreams live, and writhe to and 

30 fro more merrily than ever, taking hue from the many tinted 
windows through which stream the rays from the tripods. But 
to the chamber which lies most westwardly of the seven, there 
are now none of the maskers who venture; for the night is 
waning away, and there flows a ruddier light through the 

35 blood-colored panes ; and the blackness of the sable drapery 



THE MASQUE OF THE RED DEATH 1 17 

appalls; and to him whose foot falls upon the sable carpet, 
there comes from the near clock of ebony a muffled peal 
more solemnly emphatic than any which reaches theii' ears who 
indulge in the more remote gayeties of the other apartments. 

But these other apartments were densely crowded, and in 5 
them beat feverishly the heart of life. And the revel went 
whirlingly on, until at length there commenced the sounding 
of midnight upon the clock. And then the music ceased, as I 
have told ; and the evolutions of the waltzers were quieted; and 
there was an uneasy cessation of all things as before. But now 10 
there were twelve strokes to be sounded by the bell of the 
clock ; and thus it happened, perhaps, that more of thought 
crept, with more of time, into the meditations of the thought- 
ful among those who revelled. And thus too it happened, 
perhaps, that before the last echoes of the last chime had utterly 15 
sunk into silence, there were many individuals in the crowd who 
had found leisure to become aware of the presence of a masked 
figure which had arrested the attention of no single individual 
before. And the rumor of this new presence having spread 
itself whisperingly around, there arose at length from the 20 
whole company a buzz, or murmur, expressive of disapproba- 
tion and surprise — then, finally, of terror, of horror, and of 
disgust. 

In an assembly of phantasms such as I have painted, it may 
well be supposed that no ordinary appearance could have 25 
excited such sensation. In truth the masquerade license of the 
night was nearly unlimited ; but the figure in question had out- 
Heroded Herod, and gone beyond the bounds of even the 
Prince's indefinite decorum. There are chords in the hearts 
of the most reckless which cannot be touched without emotion. 30 
Even with the utterly lost, to whom life and death are equally 
jests, there are matters of which no jest can be made. The 
whole company, indeed, seemed now deeply to feel that in the 
costume and bearing of the stranger neither wit nor propriety 
existed. The figure was tall and gaunt, and shrouded from 35 



Il8 SELECTIONS FROM POE 

head to foot in the habiliments of the grave. The mask which 
concealed the visage was made so nearly to resemble the coun- 
tenance of a stiffened corpse that the closest scrutiny must have 
had difficulty in detecting the cheat. And yet all this might 
5 have been endured, if not approved, by the mad revellers 
around. But the mummer had gone so far as to assume the 
type of the Red Death. His vesture was dabbled in blood — 
and his broad brow, with all the features of the face, was 
besprinkled with the scarlet horror. 

lo When the eyes of Prince Prospero fell upon this spectral 
image (which with a slow and solemn movement, as if more 
fully to sustain its i-olcy stalked to and fro among the waltzers) 
he was seen to be convulsed, in the first moment, with a strong 
shudder either of terror or distaste \ but, in the next, his brow 

15 reddened with rage. 

"Who dares? " he demanded hoarsely of the courtiers who 
stood near him — " who dares insult us with this blasphemous 
mockery ? Seize him and unmask him — that we may know 
whom we have to hang at sunrise, from the battlements ! " 

20 It was in the eastern or blue chamber in which stood the 
Prince Prospero as he uttered these words. They rang through- 
out the seven rooms loudly and clearly — for the Prince was a 
bold and robust man, and the music had become hushed at the 
waving of his hand. 

25 It was in the blue room where stood the Prince, with a group 
of pale courtiers by his side. At first, as he spoke, there was a 
slight rushing movement of this group in the direction of the 
intruder, who at the moment was also near at hand, and now, 
with deliberate and stately step, made closer approach to the 

30 speaker. But from a certain nameless awe with which the mad 
assumptions of the mummer had inspired the whole party, there 
were found none who put forth hand to seize him ; so that, 
unimpeded, he passed within a yard of the Prince's person ; 
and, while the vast assembly, as if with one impulse, shrank 

35 from the centres of the rooms to the walls, he made his way 



THE MASQUE OF THE RED DEATH 119 

uninterruptedly, but with the same solemn and measured step 
which had distinguished him from the first, through the blue 
chamber to the purple — through the purple to the green — 
through the green to the orange — through this again to the 
white — and even thence to the violet, ere a decided movement 5 
had been made to arrest him. It was then, however, that the 
Prince Prospero, maddening with rage and the shame of his 
own momentary cowardice, rushed hurriedly through the six 
chambers, while none followed him on account of a deadly 
terror that had seized upon all. He bore aloft a drawn dagger, 10 
and had approached, in rapid impetuosity, to within three or 
four feet of the retreating figure, when the latter, having 
attained the extremity of the velvet apartment, turned sud- 
denly and confronted his pursuer. There was a sharp cry — 
and the dagger dropped gleaming upon the sable carpet, upon 1 5 
which, instantly afterwards, fell prostrate in death the Prince 
Prospero. Then, summoning the wild courage of despair, a 
throng of the revellers at once threw themselves into the black 
apartment, and, seizing the mummer, whose tall figure stood 
erect and motionless within the shadow of the ebony clock, 20 
gasped in unutterable horror at finding the grave cerements and 
corpse-like mask, which they handled with so violent a rude- 
ness, untenanted by any tangible form. 

And now was acknowledged the presence of the Red Death. 
He had come like a thief in the night. And one by one 25 
dropped the revellers in the blood-bedewed halls of their revel, 
and died each in the despairing posture of his fall. And the 
life of the ebony clock went out with that of the last of the 
gay. And the flames of the tripods expired. And Darkness and 
Decay and the Red Death held illimitable dominion over all. 30 



THE GOLD-BUG 

What ho ! what ho ! this fellow is dancing mad ! 
He hath been bitten by the Tarantula. 

All in the IVrong 

Many years ago, I contracted an intimacy with a Mr. 
William Legrand. He was of an ancient Huguenot family, 
and had once been wealthy ; but a series of misfortunes had 
reduced him to want. To avoid the mortification consequent 
5 upon his disasters, he left New Orleans, the city of his fore- 
fathers, and took up his residence at Sullivan's Island, near 
Charleston, South Carolina. 

This island is a very singular one. It consists of little else 
than the sea sand, and is about three miles long. Its breadth 

ID at no point exceeds a quarter of a mile. It is separated from 
the main-land by a scarcely perceptible creek, oozing its way 
through a wilderness of reeds and slime, a favorite resort of 
the marsh-hen. The vegetation, as might be supposed, is 
scant, or at least dwarfish. No trees of any magnitude are to 

15 be seen. Near the western extremity, where Fort Moultrie 
stands, and where are some miserable frame buildings, ten- 
anted during summer by the fugitives from Charleston dust 
and fever, may be found, indeed, the bristly palmetto ; but 
the whole island, with the exception of this western point, and 

20 a Hne of hard white beach on the seacoast, is covered with a 
dense undergrowth of the sweet myrtle, so much prized by the 
horticulturists of England. The shrub here often attains the 
height of fifteen or twenty feet, and forms an almost impene- 
trable coppice, burdening the air with its fragrance. 

25 In the utmost recesses of this coppice, not far from the 
eastern or more remote end of the island, Legrand had built 



THE GOLD-BUG 121 

himself a small hut, which he occupied when I first, by mere 
accident, made his acquaintance. This soon ripened into 
friendship — for there was much in the recluse to excite 
interest and esteem. I found him well educated, with unusual 
powers of mind, but infected with misanthropy, and subject s 
to perverse moods of alternate enthusiasm and melancholy. 
He had with him many books, but rarely employed them. 
His chief amusements were gunning and fishing, or sauntering 
along the beach and through the myrtles in quest of shells or 
entomological specimens ; — his collection of the latter might lo 
have been envied by a Swammerdamm. In these excursions 
he was usually accompanied by an old negro, called Jupiter, 
who had been manumitted before the reverses of the family, 
but who could be induced, neither by threats nor by promises, 
to abandon what he considered his right of attendance upon 15 
the footsteps of his young " Massa Will." It is not improbable 
that the relatives of Legrand, conceiving him to be somewhat 
unsettled in intellect, had contrived to instil this obstinacy 
into Jupiter, with a view to the supervision and guardianship 
of the wanderer. 20 

The winters in the latitude of Sullivan's Island are seldom 
very severe, and in the fall of the year it is a rare event indeed 
when a fire is considered necessary. About the middle of 
October, 18 — , there occurred, however, a day of remarkable 
chiUiness. Just before sunset I scrambled my way through 25 
the evergreens to the hut of my friend, whom I had not 
visited for several weeks — my residence being at that time in 
Charleston, a distance of nine miles from the island, while the 
facilities of passage and re-passage were very far behind those of 
the present day. Upon reaching the hut I rapped, as was my 30 
custom, and, getting no reply, sought for the key where I knew 
it was secreted, unlocked the door and went in. A fine fire was 
blazing upon the hearth. It was a novelty, and by no means an 
ungrateful one. I threw off an overcoat, took an armchair by 
the crackling logs, and awaited patiently the arrival of my hosts. 35 



122 SELECTIONS FROM POE 

Soon after dark they arrived, and gave me a most cordial 
welcome. Jupiter, grinning from ear to ear, bustled about to 
prepare some marsh-hens for supper. Legrand was in one of 
his fits — how else shall I term them ? — of enthusiasm. He 
5 had found an unknown bivalve, forming a new genus, and, 
more than this, he had hunted down and secured, with Jupi- 
ter's assistance, a scarabccus which he believed to be totally 
new, but in respect to which he wished to have my opinion 
on the morrow. 

lo "And why not to-night? " I asked, rubbing my hands over 
the blaze, and wishing the whole tribe of scarabcei at the 
devil. 

" Ah, if I had only known you were here ! " said Legrand, 
" but it 's so long since I saw you ; and how could I foresee 

15 that you would pay me a visit this very night of all others? 

As I was coming home I met Lieutenant G , from the 

fort, and, very foolishly, I lent him the bug ; so it will be 
impossible for you to see it until the morning. Stay here to- 
night, and I will send Jup down for it at sunrise. It is the 

20 loveliest thing in creation ! " 
' ' What ? — sunrise ? ' ' 

" Nonsense ! no ! — the bug. It is of a brilliant gold color 
— about the size of a large hickory-nut — with two jet black 
spots near one extremity of the back, and another, somewhat 

25 longer, at the other. The antennce are — " 

" Dey aint 7W tin in him, Massa Will, I keep a tellin on 
you," here interrupted Jupiter ; " de bug is a goole-bug, solid, 
ebery bit of him, inside and all, sep him wing — neber feel 
half so hebby a bug in my life." 

30 '' Well, suppose it is, Jup," replied Legrand, somewhat 
more earnestly, it seemed to me, than the case demanded, 
"is that any reason for your letting the birds burn? The 
color " — here he turned to me — " is really almost enough 
to warrant Jupiter's idea. You never saw a more brilliant 

35 metallic lustre than the scales emit — but of this you cannot 



THE GOLD-BUG 123 

judge till to-morrow. In the meantime I can give you some 
idea of the shape." Saying this, he seated himself at a small 
table, on which were a pen and ink, but no paper. He looked 
for some in a drawer, but found none. 

" Never mind," said he at length, " this will answer; " and 5 
he drew from his waistcoat pocket a scrap of what I took to 
be very dirty foolscap, and made upon it a rough drawing 
with the pen. While he did this, I retained my seat by the 
fire, for I was still chilly. When the design was complete, he 
handed it to me without rising. As I received it, a low growl 10 
was heard, succeeded by a scratching at the door. Jupiter 
opened it, and a large Newfoundland, belonging to Legrand, 
rushed in, leaped upon my shoulders, and loaded me with 
caresses ; for I had shown him much attention during previous 
visits. When his gambols were over, I looked at the paper, 15 
and, to speak the truth, found myself not a little puzzled at 
what my friend had depicted. 

"Well!" I said, after contemplating it for some minutes, 
''this is a strange scarabceiis^ I must confess; new to me: 
never saw anything like it before — unless it was a skull, or a 20 
death's-head, which it more nearly resembles than anything 
else that has come under my observation." 

"A death's-head!" echoed Legrand — ^"oh — yes — well, 
it has something of that appearance upon paper, no doubt. 
The two upper black spots look like eyes, eh? and the longer 25 
one at the bottom like a mouth — and then the shape of the 
whole is oval." 

"Perhaps so," said I; "but, Legrand, I fear you are no 
artist. I must wait until I see the beetle itself, if I am to 
form any idea of its personal appearance." 30 

" Well, I don't know," said he, a little nettled, " I draw 
tolerably — should do it at least — have had good masters, 
and flatter myself that I am not quite a blockhead." 

" But, my dear fellow, you are joking then," said I ; " this 
is a very passable skull, — indeed, I may say that it is a very 35 



124 SELECTIONS FROM POE 

excellent skull, according to the vulgar notions about such 
specimens of physiology — and your scarabceus must be the 
queerest scarabceus in the world if it resembles it. Why, we 
may get up a very thrilling bit of superstition upon this hint. 

5 I presume you will call the bug scarabceus caput ho?ninis, or 

something of that kind — there are many similar titles in the 

Natural Histories. But where are the ajitetince you spoke of? " 

"The antennce!'' said Legrand, who seemed to be getting 

unaccountably warm upon the subject ; " I am sure you must 

lo see the atiteniice. I made them as distinct as they are in the 
original insect, and I presume that is sufficient." 

"Well, well," I said, " perhaps you have — still I don't see 
them ; " and I handed him the paper without additional 
remark, not wishing to ruffle his temper, but I was much sur- 

1 5 prised at the turn affairs had taken ; his ill humor puzzled me 
— and as for the drawing of the beetle, there were positively 
no antennce visible, and the whole did bear a very close 
resemblance to the ordinary cuts of a death's-head. 

He received the paper very peevishly, and was about to 

2o crumple it, apparently to throw it in the fire, when a casual 
glance at the design seemed suddenly to rivet his attention. 
In an instant his face grew violently red — in another as 
excessively pale. For some minutes he continued to scrutinize 
the drawing minutely where he sat. At length he arose, took 

25 a candle from the table, and proceeded to seat himself upon a 
sea-chest in the farthest corner of the room. Here again he 
made an anxious examination of the paper ; turning it in all 
directions. He said nothing, however, and his conduct greatly 
astonished me ; yet I thought it prudent not to exacerbate 

30 the growing moodiness of his temper by any comment. Pres- 
ently he took from his coat pocket a wallet, placed the paper 
carefully in it, and deposited both in a writing-desk, which he 
locked. He now grew more composed in his demeanor ; but 
his original air of enthusiasm had quite disappeared. Yet he 

35 seemed not so much sulky as abstracted. As the evening wore 



THE GOLD-BUG 12$ 

away he became more and more absorbed in re very, from which 
no sallies of mine could arouse him. It had been my intention 
to pass the night at the hut, as I had frequently done before, 
but, seeing my host in this mood, I deemed it proper to take 
leave. He did not press me to remain, but, as I departed, he 5 
shook my hand with even more than his usual cordiality. 

It was about a month after this (and during the interval I 
had seen nothing of Legrand) when I received a visit, at 
Charleston, from his man, Jupiter. I had never seen the good 
old negro look so dispirited, and I feared that some serious 10 
disaster had befallen my friend. 

"Well, Jup," said I, "what is the matter now? — how is 
your master? " 

" Why, to speak de troof, massa, him not so berry well as 
mought be." 15 

" Not well ! I am truly sorry to hear it. What does he 
complain of? " 

" Dar ! dat 's it ! — him neber plain of notin — but him 
berry sick for all dat." 

" Very sick, Jupiter ! — why didn't you say so at once? Is 20 
he confined to bed? " 

" No, dat he aint ! — he aint find nowhar — dat 's just whar 
de shoe pinch — my mind is got to be berry hebby bout poor 
Massa Will." 

" Jupiter, I should like to understand what it is you are 25 
talking about. You say your master is sick. Hasn't he told 
you what ails him? " 

" Why, massa, taint worf while for to git mad bout de mat- 
ter — Massa Will say noffin at all aint de matter wid him — 
but den what make him go about looking dis here way, wid he 30 
head down and he soldiers up, and as white as a gose? And 
den he keep a syphon all de time — " 

" Keeps a what, Jupiter? " 

" Keeps a syphon wid de figgurs on de slate — de queerest 
figgurs I ebber did see. Ise gittin to be skeered, I tell you. 35 



126 SELECTIONS FROM POE 

Hab for to keep mighty tight eye pon him noovers. Todder 
day he gib me sHp fore de sun up and was gone de whole ob 
de blessed day. I had a big stick ready cut for to gib him 
d d good beating when he did come — but Ise sich a fool 

5 dat I had n't de heart arter all — he look so berry poorly." 

"Eh? — what? — ah yes! — upon the whole I think you 

had better not be too severe with the poor fellow — don't flog 

him, Jupiter — he can't very well stand it — but can you form 

no idea of what has occasioned this illness, or rather this 

lo change of conduct? Has anything unpleasant happened since 
I saw you? " 

" No, massa, dey aint bin noffin onpleasant since den — 
it 'twas/(7r^ den I'm feared — 'twas de berry day you was 
dare." 

15 "How? what do you mean?" 

" Why, massa, I mean de bug — dare now." 
"The what?" 

" De bug — I 'm berry sartin dat Massa Will bin bit some- 
where bout de head by dat goole-bug." 

20 " And what cause have you, Jupiter, for such a sup- 
position? " 

" Claws enuff, massa, and mouff too. I nebber did see sich 

a d d bug — he kick and he bite ebery ting what cum near 

him. Massa Will cotch him fuss, but had for to let him go 

25 gin mighty quick, I tell you — den was de time he must ha 
got de bite. I did n't like de look ob de bug mouff, myself, 
no how, so I would n't take hold ob him wid my finger, but I 
cotch him wid a piece ob paper dat I found. I rap him up in 
de paper and stuff piece of it in he mouff — dat was de way." 

30 " And you think, then, that your master was really bitten 
by the beetle, and that the bite made him sick? " 

" I don't tink noffin about it — I nose it. What make him 
dream bout de goole so much, if taint cause he bit by de goole- 
bug? Ise heerd bout dem goole-bugs fore dis." 

35 " But how do you know he dreams about gold? " 



THE GOLD-BUG 12/ 

*' How I know ? why, cause he talk about it in he sleep — 
dat 's how I nose." 

*' Well, Jup, perhaps you are right ; but to what fortunate 
circumstance am I to attribute the honor of a visit from you 
to-day?" 5 

*' What de matter, massa? " 

" Did you bring any message from Mr. Legrand ? " 

" No, massa, I bring dis here pissel ; " and here Jupiter 
handed me a note which ran thus : 

" My dear , Why have I not seen you for so long a time ? lo 

I hope you have not been so foolish as to take offence at any little 
brusquerie of mine ; but no, that is improbable. 

" Since I saw you I have had great cause for anxiety. I have 
something to tell you, yet scarcely know how to tell it, or whether 
I should tell it at all. i^ 

" I have not been quite well for some days past, and poor old 
Jup annoys me, almost beyond endurance, by his well-meant atten- 
tions. Would you believe it } — he had prepared a huge stick, the 
other day, with which to chastise me for giving him the slip, and 
spending the day, solus, among the hills on the mainland. I verily 20 
believe that my ill looks alone saved me a flogging. 

" I have made no addition to my cabinet since we met. 

"If you can, in any way, make it convenient, come over with 
Jupiter. Do come. I wish to see you to-7iight, upon business of 
importance. I assure you that it is of the highest importance, 25 

" Ever yours, 

" William Legrand." 

There was something in the tone of this note which gave me 
great uneasiness. Its whole style differed materially from that 
of Legrand. What could he be dreaming of? What new 30 
crotchet possessed his excitable brain? What " business of the 
highest importance" could he possibly have to transact? 
Jupiter's account of him boded no good. I dreaded lest the 
continued pressure of misfortune had, at length, fairly unsettled 
the reason of my friend. Without a moment's hesitation, 35 
therefore, I prepared to accompany the negro. 



128 SELECTIONS FROM POE 

Upon reaching the wharf, I noticed a scythe and three 
spades, all apparently new, lying in the bottom of the boat in 
which we were to embark. 

"What is the meaning of all this, Jup? " I inquired. 
5 " Him syfe, massa, and spade." 

" Very true ; but what are they doing here? " 

" Him de syfe and de spade what Massa Will sis pon my 
buying for him in de town, and de debbil's own lot of money 
I had to gib for em." 
10 "But what, in the name of all that is mysterious, is your 
* Massa Will ' going to do with scythes and spades? " 

" Dat 's more dan / know, and debbil take me if I don't 
blieve 't is more dan he know, too. But it 's all cum ob de 
bug." 
15 Finding that no satisfaction was to be obtained of Jupiter, 
whose whole intellect seemed to be absorbed by " de bug," I 
now stepped into the boat and made sail. With a fair and 
strong breeze we soon ran into the little cove to the north- 
ward of Fort Moultrie, and a walk of some two miles brought 
20 us to the hut. It was about three in the afternoon when we ar- 
rived. Legrand had been awaiting us in eager expectation. He 
grasped my hand with a nervous empresseinent, which alarmed 
me and strengthened the suspicions already entertained. His 
countenance was pale even to ghastliness, and his deep-set eyes 
25 glared with unnatural lustre. After some inquiries respecting 
his health, I asked him, not knowing what better to say, if he 
had yet obtained the scarabceus from Lieutenant G . 

" Oh, yes," he replied, coloring violently, " I got it from him 

the next morning. Nothing should tempt me to part with that 

30 scarabceus. Do you know that Jupiter is quite right about it ? " 

" In what way? " I asked, with a sad foreboding at heart. 

"In supposing it to be a bug of real gold '^ He said this with 
an air of profound seriousness, and I felt inexpressibly shocked. 

"This bug is to make my fortune," he continued, with a 
35 triumphant smile, " to reinstate me in my family possessions. 



THE GOLD-BUG 129 

Is it any wonder, then, that I prize it? Since Fortune has 
thought fit to bestow it upon me, I have only to use it properly 
and I shall arrive at the gold of which it is the index. Jupiter, 
bring me that scarabccus / " 

'' What ! de bug, massa? I 'd rudder not go fer trubble dat 5 
bug — you mus git him for your own self." Hereupon Legrand 
arose, with a grave and stately air, and brought me the beetle 
from a glass case in which it was enclosed. It was a beautiful 
scarabmis, and, at that time, unknown to naturalists — of 
course a great prize in a scientific point of view. There were 10 
two round, black spots near one extremity of the back, and a 
long one near the other. The scales were exceedingly hard 
and glossy, with all the appearance of burnished gold. The 
weight of the insect was very remarkable, and, taking all 
things into consideration, I could hardly blame Jupiter for his 15 
opinion respecting it ; but what to make of Legrand's agree- 
ment with that opinion, I could not, for the hfe of me, tell. 

" I sent for you," said he, in a grandiloquent tone, when I 
had completed my examination of the beetle, " I sent for you 
that I might have your counsel and assistance in furthering 20 
the views of Fate and of the bug — " 

"My dear Legrand," I cried, interrupting him, "you are 
certainly unwell, and had better use some Httle precautions. 
You shall go to bed, and I will remain with you a few days, 
until you get over this. You are feverish and — " 25 

" Feel my pulse," said he. 

I felt it, and, to say the truth, found not the slightest indi- 
cation of fever. 

" But you may be ill, and yet have no fever. Allow me this 
once to prescribe for you. In the first place, go to bed. In 30 
the next — " 

" You are mistaken," he interposed, " I am as well as I can 
expect to be under the excitement which I suffer. If you 
really wish me well, you will relieve this excitement." 

" And how is this to be done? " 35 



130 SELECTIONS FROM POE 

" Very easily. Jupiter and myself are going upon an expe- 
dition into the hills, upon the mainland, and, in this expedi- 
tion, we shall need the aid of some person in whom we can 
confide. You are the only one we can trust. Whether we 
5 succeed or fail, the excitement which you now perceive in me 
will be equally allayed." 

" I am anxious to oblige you in any way," I replied ; " but 
do you mean to say that this infernal beetle has any connec- 
tion with your expedition into the hills? " 
10 "It has." 

*' Then, Legrand, I can become a party to no such absurd 
proceeding." 

"I am sorry — very sorry — for we shall have to try it by 
ourselves." 
15 "Try it by yourselves! The man is surely mad! — but 
stay — how long do you propose to be absent? " 

" Probably all night. We shall start immediately, and be 
back, at all events, by sunrise." 

"And will you promise me, upon your honor, that when 
20 this freak of yours is over, and the bug business (good God !) 
settled to your satisfaction, you will then return home and 
follow my advice implicitly, as that of your physician? " 

"Yes; I promise; and now let us be off, for we have no 
time to lose." 
25 With a heavy heart I accompanied my friend. We started 
about four o'clock — Legrand, Jupiter, the dog, and myself. 
Jupiter had with him the scythe and spades^ the whole of 
which he insisted upon carrying, more through fear, it seemed 
to me, of trusting either of the implements within reach of his 
30 master, than from any excess of industry or complaisance. 

His demeanor was dogged in the extreme, and " dat d d 

bug " were the sole words which escaped his lips during the 

journey. For my own part, I had charge of a couple of dark 

lanterns, while Legrand contented himself with the scarabceus^ 

35 which he carried attached to the end of a bit of whip-cord ; 



THE GOLD-BUG I3I 

twirling it to and fro, with the air of a conjurer, as he went. 
When I observed this last, plain evidence of my friend's aber- 
ration of mind, I could scarcely refrain from tears. I thought 
it best, however, to humor his fancy, at least for the present, 
or until I could adopt some more energetic measures with a 5 
chance of success. In the meantime I endeavored, but all in 
vain, to sound him in regard to the object of the expedition. 
Having succeeded in inducing me to accompany him, he 
seemed unwilling to hold conversation upon any topic of 
minor importance, and to all my questions vouchsafed no 10 
other reply than " we shall see ! " 

We crossed the creek at the head of the island by means of 
a skiff, and, ascending the high grounds on the shore of the 
mainland, proceeded in a northwesterly direction, through a 
tract of country excessively wild and desolate, where no trace 15 
of a human footstep was to be seen. Legrand led the way 
with decision ; pausing only for an instant, here and there, to 
consult what appeared to be certain landmarks of his own 
contrivance upon a former occasion. 

In this manner we journeyed for about two hours, and the 20 
sun was just setting when we entered a region infinitely more 
dreary than any yet seen. It was a species of tableland, near 
the summit of an almost inaccessible hill, densely wooded 
from base to pinnacle, and interspersed with huge crags that 
appeared to lie loosely upon the soil, and in many cases were 25 
prevented from precipitating themselves into the valleys below 
merely by the support of the trees against which they reclined. 
Deep ravines, in various directions, gave an air of still sterner 
solemnity to the scene. 

The natural platform to which we had clambered was thickly 30 
overgrown with brambles, through which we soon discovered 
that it would have been impossible to force our way but for 
the scythe ; and Jupiter, by direction of his master, proceeded 
to clear for us a path to the foot of an enormously tall tulip 
tree, which stood, with some eight or ten o'aks, upon the level, 35 



132 SELECTIONS FROM POE 

and far surpassed them all, and all other trees which I had 
then ever seen, in the beauty of its foliage and form, in the 
wide spread of its branches, and in the general majesty of its 
appearance. When we reached this tree, Legrand turned to 
5 Jupiter, and asked him if he thought he could climb it. The 
old man seemed a little staggered by the question, and for 
some moments made no reply. At length he approached the 
huge trunk, walked slowly around it, and examined it with 
minute attention. When he had completed his scrutiny, he 

lo merely said : 

" Yes, massa, Jup climb any tree he ebber see in he life." 
"Then up with you as soon as possible, for it will soon be 
too dark to see what we are about." 

" How far mus go up, massa? " inquired Jupiter. 

15 '' Get up the main trunk first, and then I will tell you which 
way to go — and here — stop ! take this beetle with you." 

" De bug, Massa Will! — de goole-bug I " cried the negro, 
drawing back in dismay — " what for mus tote de bug way up 
de tree? — d — n if I do ! " 

20 " If you are afraid, Jup, a great big negro like you, to take 
hold of a harmless little dead beetle, why, you can carry it up 
by this string — but, if you do not take it up with you in some 
way, I shall be under the necessity of breaking your head with 
this shovel." 

25 " What de matter now, massa? " said Jup, evidently shamed 
into compliance ; " always want fur to raise fuss wid old nigger. 
Was only funnin anyhow. Me feered de bug ! what I keer for 
de bug?" Here he took cautiously hold of the extreme end 
of the string, and, maintaining the insect as far from his person 

30 as circumstances would permit, prepared to ascend the tree. 

In youth, the tulip tree, or Liriodendron Tulipifera, the 

most magnificent of American foresters, has a trunk peculiarly 

smooth, and often rises to a great height without lateral 

branches ; but, in its riper age, the bark becomes gnarled and 

35 uneven, while many short limbs make their appearance on the 



THE GOLD-BUG 133 

stem. Thus the difficulty of ascension, in the present case, 
lay more in semblance than in reality. Embracing the huge 
cylinder, as closely as possible, with his arms and knees, seiz- 
ing with his hands some projections, and resting his naked 
toes upon others, Jupiter, after one or two narrow escapes 5 
from falling, at length wriggled himself into the first great 
fork, and seemed to consider the whole business as virtually 
accomplished. The 7'isk of the achievement was, in fact, now 
over, although the climber was some sixty or seventy feet from 
the ground. 10 

" Which way mus go now, Massa Will? " he asked. 

'' Keep up the largest branch, — the one on this side," said 
Legrand. The negro obeyed him promptly, and apparently 
with but little trouble, ascending higher and higher, until no 
glimpse of his squat figure could be obtained through the 15 
dense foliage which enveloped it. Presently his voice was 
heard in a sort of halloo. 

" How much fudder is got for go? " 

" How high up are you? " asked Legrand. 

" Ebber so fur," replied the negro ; " can see de sky fru de 20 
top ob de tree." 

" Never mind the sky, but attend to what I say. Look down 
the trunk and count the limbs below you on this side. How 
many limbs have you passed? " 

"One, two, tree, four, fibe — I done pass fibe big limb, 25 
massa, pon dis side." 

" Then go one limb higher." 

In a few minutes the voice was heard again, announcing 
that the seventh limb was attained. 

" Now, Jup," cried Legrand, evidently much excited, " I 30 
want you to woik your way out upon that limb as far as you 
can. If you see anything strange, let me know." 

By this time what little doubt I might have entertained of 
my poor friend's insanity was put finally at rest. I had no 
alternative but to conclude him stricken with lunacy, and I 35 



134 SELECTIONS FROM POE 

became seriously anxious about getting him home. While I 
was pondering upon what was best to be done, Jupiter's voice 
was again heard. 

"Mos feerd for to ventur pon dis limb berry far — 'tis 
5 dead limb putty much all de way." 

" Did you say it was a ^^^^limb, Jupiter? " cried Legrand 
in a quavering voice. 

" Yes, massa, him dead as de door-nail — done up for sar- 
tain — done departed dis here life." 
lo " What in the name of heaven shall I do? " asked Legrand, 
seemingly in the greatest distress. 

" Do !" said I, glad of an opportunity to interpose a word, 
" why come home and go to bed. Come now ! — that 's a fine 
fellow. It 's getting late, and, besides, you remember your 
15 promise." 

" Jupiter," cried he, without heeding me in the least, " do 
you hear me? " 

"Yes, Massa Will, hear you ebber so plain." 

" Try the wood well, then, with your knife, and see if you 
20 think it very rotten." 

" Him rotten, massa, sure nuff," repHed the negro in a few 
moments, " but not so berry rotten as mought be. Mought 
ventur out leetle way pon de limb by myself, dat 's true." 

" By yourself? — what do you mean? " 
25 ''Why, I mean de bug. 'Tis her7j hebby bug. Spose I 
drop him down fuss, and den de limb won't break wid just de 
weight ob one nigger." 

" You infernal scoundrel ! " cried Legrand, apparently much 
relieved, "what do you mean by telling me such nonsense as 
30 that? As sure as you let that beetle fall, I '11 break your neck. 
Look here, Jupiter ! do you hear me? " 

" Yes, massa, need n't hollo at poor nigger dat style." 

" Well ! now listen ! — if you will venture out on the limb 
as far as you think safe, and not let go the beetle, I '11 make 
35 you a present of a silver dollar as soon as you get down." 



THE GOLD-BUG 155 

"I'm gwine, Massa Will — deed I is," replied the negro 
very promptly — " mos out to the eend now." 

" Out to the end I'' here fairly screamed Legrand, *' do you 
say you are out to the end of that limb? " 

" Soon be to de eend, massa, — o-o-o-o-oh ! Lor-gol-a-marcy ! 5 
what is dis here pon de tree? " 

" Well ! " cried Legrand, highly dehghted, " what is it? " 

" Why taint noffin but a skull — somebody bin lef him head 
up de tree, and de crows done gobble ebery bit ob de meat off." 

" A skull, you say ! — very well ! — how is it fastened to the 10 
limb? — what holds it on? " 

" Sure nuff, massa ; mus look. Why, dis berry curous sar- 
cumstance, pon my word — dare's a great big nail in de skull, 
what fastens ob it on to de tree." 

" Well now, Jupiter, do exactly as I tell you — do you hear?" 15 

" Yes, massa." 

" Pay attention, then ! — find the left eye of the skull." 

*' Hum ! hoo ! dat 's good ! why, dar ain't no eye lef at all." 

" Curse your stupidity ! do you know your right hand from 
your left?" 20 

"Yes, I nose dat — nose all bout dat — 'tis my lef hand 
w^hat I chops de wood wid." 

" To be sure ! you are left-handed ; and your left eye is on 
the same side as your left hand. Now, I suppose, you can 
find the left eye of the skull, or the place where the left eye 25 
has been. Have you found it? " 

Here was a long pause. At length the negro asked, " Is de 
lef eye of de skull pon de same side as de lef hand of de skull, 
too? — cause de skull ain't got not a bit ob a hand at all — 
nebber mind ! I got de lef eye now — here de lef eye ! what 30 
mus do wid it? " 

" Let the beetle drop through it, as far as the string will 
reach — but be careful and not let go your hold of the string." 

"All dat done, Massa Will; mighty easy ting for to put de 
bug fru de hole — look out for him dar below ! " 35 



I3'6 SELECTIONS FROM POE 

During this colloquy no portion of Jupiter's person could be 
seen; but the beetle, which he had suffered to descend, was 
now visible at the end of the string, and glistened like a globe 
of burnished gold in the last rays of the setting sun, some of 
5 which still faintly illumined the eminence upon which we stood. 
The scai-abcBus hung quite clear of any branches, and, if allowed 
to fall, would have fallen at our feet. Legrand immediately 
took the scythe, and cleared with it a circular space, three or 
four yards in diameter, just beneath the insect, and, having 

lo accomphshed this, ordered Jupiter to let go the string and 
come down from the tree. 

Driving a peg, with great nicety, into the ground at the 
precise spot where the beetle fell, my friend now produced 
from his pocket a tape-measure. Fastening one end of this 

15 at that point of the trunk of the tree which was nearest the 
peg, he unrolled it till it reached the peg, and thence farther 
unrolled it, in the direction already established by the two 
points of the tree and the peg, for the distance of fifty feet — 
Jupiter clearing away the brambles with the scythe. At the 

20 spot thus attained a second peg was driven, and about thi^, as 
a centre, a rude circle, about four feet in diameter, described. 
Taking now a spade himself, and giving one to Jupiter and 
one to me, Legrand begged us to set about digging as quickly 
as possible. 

25 To speak the truth, I had no especial relish for such amuse- 
ment at any time, and, at that particular moment, would most 
willingly have declined it ; for the night was coming on, and I 
felt much fatigued with the exercise already taken ; but I saw 
no mode of escape, and was fearful of disturbing my poor 

30 friend's equanimity by a refusal. Could I have depended, 
indeed, upon Jupiter's aid, 1 would have had no hesitation in 
attempting to get the lunatic home by force ; but I was too 
well assured of the old negro's disposition to hope that he 
would assist me, under any circumstances, in a personal contest 

35 with his master. I made no doubt that the latter had been 



THE GOLD-BUG I37 

infected with some of the innumerable Southern superstitions 
about money buried, and that his fantasy had received con- 
firmation by the finding of the scarabceus, or, perhaps, by 
Jupiter's obstinacy in maintaining it to be " a bug of real gold." 
A mind disposed to lunacy would readily be led away by such 5 
suggestions, especially if chiming in with favorite preconceived 
ideas; and then 1 called to mind the poor fellow's speech 
about the beetle's being "the index of his fortune." Upon 
the whole, I was sadly vexed and puzzled, but at length I con- 
cluded to make a virtue of necessity — to dig with a good will, 10 
and thus the sooner to convince the visionary, by ocular 
demonstration, of the fallacy of the opinions he entertained. 

The lanterns having been lit, we all fell to work with a zeal 
worthy a more rational cause ; and, as the glare fell upon our 
persons and implements, I could not help thinking how pictur- 15 
esque a group we composed, and how strange and suspicious 
our labors must have appeared to any interloper who, by 
chance, might have stumbled upon our whereabouts. 

We dug very steadily for two hours. Little was said; and 
our chief embarrassment lay in the yelpings of the dog, who 20 
took exceeding interest in our proceedings. He, at length, 
became so obstreperous that we grew fearful of his giving the 
alarm to some stragglers in the vicinity ; or, rather, this was 
the apprehension of Legrand ; for myself, I should have re- 
joiced at any interruption which might have enabled me to get 25 
the wanderer home. The noise was, at length, very effectually 
silenced by Jupiter, who, getting out of the hole with a dogged 
air of deliberation, tied the brute's mouth up with one of his 
suspenders, and then returned, with a grave chuckle, to his task. 

When the time mentioned had expired, we had reached a 30 
depth of five feet, and yet no signs of any treasure became 
manifest. A general pause ensued, and I began to hope that 
the farce was at an end. Legrand, however, although evidently 
much disconcerted, wiped his brow thoughtfully and recom- 
menced. We had excavated the entire circle of four feet 35 



138 SELECTIONS FROM POE 

diameter, and now we slightly enlarged the limit, and went to 
the farther depth of two feet. Still nothing appeared. The 
gold-seeker, whom I sincerely pitied, at length clambered from 
the pit, with the bitterest disappointment imprinted upon 
5 every feature, and proceeded, slowly and reluctantly, to put 
on his coat, which he had thrown off at the beginning of his 
labor. In the meantime I made no remark. Jupiter, at a 
signal from his master, began to gather up his tools. This 
done, and the dog having been unmuzzled, we turned in pro- 

10 found silence towards home. 

We had taken, perhaps, a dozen steps in this direction, when, 
with a loud oath, Legrand strode up to Jupiter, and seized him 
by the collar. The astonished negro opened his eyes and mouth 
to the fullest extent, let fall the spades, and fell upon his knees. 

15 "You scoundrel," said Legrand, hissing out the syllables 
from between his clenched teeth — *' you infernal black villain ! 
— speak, I tell you ! — answer me this instant, without pre- 
varication ! — which — which is your left eye? " 

" Oh, my golly, Massa Will ! aint dis here my lef eye for 

20 sartain?" roared the terrified Jupiter, placing his hand upon 
his right organ of vision, and holding it there with a desperate 
pertinacity, as if in immediate dread of his master's attempt 
at a gouge. 

" I thought so ! I knew it ! Hurrah ! " vociferated Legrand, 

25 letting the negro go, and executing a series of curvets and 
caracoles, much to the astonishment of his valet, who, arising 
from his knees, looked mutely from his master to myself, and 
then from myself to his master. 

" Come ! we must go back," said the latter, " the game 's 

30 not up yet ; " and he again led the way to the tulip tree. 

<' Jupiter," said he, when we reached its foot, " come here ! 
Was the skull nailed to the limb with the face outward, or with 
the face to the limb? " 

" De face was out, massa, so dat de crows could get at de 

35 eyes good, widout any trouble." 



THE GOLD-BUG I 39 

"Well, then, was it this eye or that through which you 
dropped the beetle? " here Legrand touched each of Jupiter's 
eyes. 

" 'Twas dis eye, massa — de lef eye — jis as you tell me," 
and here it was his right eye that the negro indicated. 5 

" That will do — we must try it again." 

Here my friend, about whose madness I now saw, or fancied 
that I saw, certain indications of method, removed the peg 
which marked the spot where the beetle fell, to a spot about 
three inches to the westward of its former position. Taking, 10 
now, the tape-measure from the nearest point of the trunk 
to the peg, as before, and continuing the extension in a 
straight line to the distance of fifty feet, a spot was indicated, 
removed, by several yards, from the point at which we had 
been digging.. iS 

Around the new position a circle, somewhat larger than in 
the former instance, was now described, and we again set to 
work with the spades. I was dreadfully weary, but, scarcely 
understanding what had occasioned the change in my thoughts, 
I felt no longer any great aversion from the labor imposed. I 20 
had become most unaccountably interested — nay, even 
excited. Perhaps there was something, amid all the extrava- 
gant demeanor of Legrand — some air of forethought, or of 
deliberation — which impressed me. I dug eagerly, and now 
and then caught myself actually looking, with something that 25 
very much resembled expectation, for the fancied treasure, the 
vision of which had demented my unfortunate companion. At 
a period when such vagaries of thought most fully possessed 
me, and when we had been at work perhaps an hour and a 
half, we were again interrupted by the violent bowlings of the 30 
dog. His uneasiness, in the first instance, had been evidently 
but the result of playfulness or caprice, but he now assumed a 
bitter and serious tone. Upon Jupiter's again attempting to 
muzzle him, he made furious resistance, and, leaping into the 
hole, tore up the mould frantically with his claws. In a few 35 



140 SELECTIONS FROM POE 

seconds he had uncovered a mass of human bones, forming two 
complete skeletons, intermingled with several buttons of metal, 
and what appeared to be the dust of decayed woollen. One or 
two strokes of a spade upturned the blade of a large Span- 
5 ish knife, and, as he dug farther, three or four loose pieces of 
gold and silver coin came to light. 

At sight of these the joy of Jupiter could scarcely be 
restrained, but the countenance of his master wore an air of 
extreme disappointment. He urged us, however, to continue 

lo our exertions, and the words were hardly uttered when I 
stumbled and fell forward, having caught the toe of my boot 
in a large ring of iron that lay half buried in the loose earth. 

We now worked in earnest, and never did I pass ten minutes 
of more intense excitement. During this interval we had 

15 fairly unearthed an oblong chest of wood, which, from its per- 
fect preservation and wonderful hardness, had plainly been 
subjected to some mineralizing process — perhaps that of the 
bichloride of mercury. This box was three feet and a half 
long, three feet broad, and two and a half feet deep. It was 

20 firmly secured by bands of wrought iron, riveted, and forming 
a kind of trellis-work over the whole. On each side of the 
chest, near the top, were three rings of iron — six in all — by 
means of which a firm hold could be obtained by six persons. 
Our utmost united endeavors served only to disturb the coffer 

25 very slightly in its bed. We at once saw the impossibility of 
removing so great a weight. Luckily, the sole fastenings of 
the lid consisted of two sliding bolts. These we drew back — 
trembling and panting with anxiety. In an instant, a treasure 
of incalculable value lay gleaming before us. As the rays of 

30 the lanterns fell within the pit, there flashed upwards, from 
a confused heap of gold and of jewels, a glow and a glare that 
absolutely dazzled our eyes. 

I shall not pretend to describe the feelings with which I 
gazed. Amazement was, of course, predominant. Legrand 

35 appeared exhausted with excitement, and spoke very few 



THE GOLD-BUG 141 

words. Jupiter's countenance wore, for some minutes, as 
deadly a pallor as it is possible, in the nature of things, 
for any negro's visage to assume. He seemed stupified — 
thunder-stricken. Presently he fell upon his knees in the pit, 
and, burying his naked arms up to the elbows in gold, let them 5 
there remain, as if enjoying the luxury of a bath. At length, 
with a deep sigh, he exclaimed, as if in a soliloquy : 

" And dis all cum ob de goole-bug ! de putty goole-bug ! 
de poor little goole-bug, what I boosed in dat sabage kind ob 
style ! Aint you shamed ob yourself, nigger? — answer me dat ! " 10 

It became necessary, at last, that I should arouse both mas- 
ter and valet to the expediency of removing the treasure. It 
was growing late, and it behooved us to make exertion, that 
we might get everything housed before daylight. It was diffi- 
cult to say what should be done, and much time was spent in 15 
deliberation — so confused were the ideas of all. We finally 
lightened the box by removing t\vo-thirds of its contents, when 
we were enabled, with some trouble, to raise it from the hole. 
The articles taken out were deposited among the brambles, 
and the dog left to guard them, with strict orders from Jupiter 20 
neither, upon any pretence, to stir from the spot, nor to open 
his mouth until our return. We then hurriedly made for home 
with the chest ; reaching the hut in safety, but after excessive 
toil, at one o'clock in the morning. Worn out as we were, it 
was not in human nature to do more just now. We rested 25 
until two, and had supper ; starting for the hills immediately 
afterwards, armed with three stout sacks, which by good luck 
were upon the premises. A little before four we arrived at the 
pit, divided the remainder of the booty, as equally as might be, 
among us, and, leaving the holes unfilled, again set out for the -q 
hut, at which, for the second time, we deposited our golden 
burdens, just as the first streaks of the dawn gleamed from 
over the tree-tops in the East. 

We were now thoroughly broken down ; but the intense 
excitement of the time denied us repose. After an unquiet 35 



142 SELECTIONS FROM POE 

slumber of some three or four hours' duration, we arose, as if 
by preconcert, to make examination of our treasure. 

The chest had been full to the brim, and we spent the whole 
day, and the greater part of the next night, in a scrutiny of its 
5 contents. There had been nothing like order or arrangement. 
Everything had been heaped in promiscuously. Having assorted 
all with care, we found ourselves possessed of even vaster wealth 
than we had at first supposed. In coin there was rather more 
than four hundred and fifty thousand dollars : estimating the 

lo value of the pieces, as accurately as we could, by the tables of 
the period. There was not a particle of silver. All was gold of 
antique date and of great variety : French, Spanish, and Ger- 
man money, with a few English guineas, and some counters, of 
which we had never seen specimens before. There were sev- 

15 eral very large and heavy coins, so worn that we could make 
nothing of their inscriptions. There was no American money. 
The value of the jewels we found more difficulty in estimating. 
There were diamonds — some of them exceedingly large and 
fine — a hundred and ten in all, and not one of them small ; 

20 eighteen rubies of remarkable brilliancy; three hundred and 
ten emeralds, all very beautiful ; and twenty-one sapphires, 
with an opal. These stones had all been broken from their 
settings and thrown loose in the chest. The settings themselves, 
which we picked out from among the other gold, appeared to 

25 have been beaten up with hammers, as if to prevent identifi- 
cation. Besides all this, there was a vast quantity of solid gold 
ornaments : nearly two hundred massive finger and ear-rings ; 
rich chains — thirty of these, if I remember ; eighty- three very 
large and heavy crucifixes ; five gold censers of great value ; a 

30 prodigious golden punch-bowl, ornamented with richly chased 
vine-leaves and Bacchanalian figures ; with two sword-handles 
exquisitely embossed, and many other smaller articles which 
I cannot recollect. The weight of these valuables exceeded 
three hundred and fifty pounds avoirdupois ; and in this esti- 

35 mate I have not included one hundred and ninety-seven 



THE GOLD-BUG 



43 



superb gold watches ; three of the number being worth each 
five hundred dollars, if one. Many of them were very old, 
and as time-keepers valueless, the works having suffered more 
or less from corrosion ; but all were richly jewelled and in 
cases of great worth. We estimated the entire contents of the 5 
chest, that night, at a million and a half of dollars ; and, upon 
the subsequent disposal of the trinkets and jewels (a few 
being retained for our own use), it was found that we had 
greatly undervalued the treasure. 

When, at length, we had concluded our examination, and 10 
the intense excitement of the time had in some measure sub- 
sided, Le grand, who saw that I was dying with impatience for 
a solution of this most extraordinary riddle, entered into a full 
detail of all the circumstances connected with it. 

"You remember," said he, "the night when I handed you 15 
the rough sketch I had made of the scaj-abceus. You recollect, 
also, that I became quite vexed at you for insisting that my 
drawing resembled a death's-head. When you first made this 
assertion I thought you were jesting ; but afterwards I called 
to mind the peculiar spots on the back of the insect, and 20 
admitted to myself that your remark had some little foundation 
in fact. Still, the sneer at my graphic powers irritated me — 
for I am considered a good artist — and, therefore, when you 
handed me the scrap of parchment, I was about to crumple it 
up and throw it angrily into the fire." 25 

" The scrap of paper, you mean," said I. 

" No : it had much of the appearance of paper, and at first 
I supposed it to be such, but when I came to draw upon it, I 
discovered it, at once, to be a piece of very thin parchment. 
It was quite dirty, you remember. Well, as I was in the very 30 
act of crumpling it up, my glance fell upon the sketch at which 
you had been looking, and you may imagine my astonishment 
when I perceived, in fact, the figure of a death's-head just 
where, it seemed to me, I had made the drawing of the beetle. 
For a moment I was too much amazed to think with accuracy. 35 



144 SELECTIONS FROM POE 

I knew that my design was very different in detail from this — 
although there was a certain similarity in general outline. 
Presently I took a candle and, seating myself at the other end 
of the room, proceeded to scrutinize the parchment more 
5 closely. Upon turning it over, I saw my own sketch upon the 
reverse, just as I had made it. My first idea, now, was mere 
surprise at the really remarkable similarity of outline — at the 
singular coincidence involved in the fact that, unknown to me, 
there should have been a skull upon the other side of the parch- 

lo ment, immediately beneath my figure of the scarabceus^ and 
that this skull, not only in outline, but in size, should so closely 
resemble my drawing. I say the singularity of this coincidence 
absolutely stupified me for a time. This is the usual effect of 
such coincidences. The mind struggles to establish a connec- 

15 tion — a sequence of cause and effect — and, being unable to 
do so, suffers a species of temporary paralysis. But, when I 
recovered from this stupor, there dawned upon me gradually 
a conviction which startled me even far more than the coinci- 
dence. I began distinctly, positively, to remember that there 

20 had been no drawing on the parchment when I made my 
sketch of the scai-aba^us. I became perfectly certain of this ; 
for I recollected turning up first one side and then the other, 
in search of the cleanest spot. Had the skull been then there, 
of course I could not have failed to notice it. Here was 

25 indeed a mystery which I felt it impossible to explain ; but, 
even at that early moment, there seemed to glimmer, faintly, 
within the most remote and secret chambers of my intellect, a 
glow-worm-like conception of that truth .which last night's 
adventure brought to so magnificent a demonstration. I arose 

30 at once, and, putting the parchment securely away, dismissed 
all farther reflection until I should be alone. 

"When you had gone, and when Jupiter was fast asleep, 
I betook myself to a more methodical investigation of the 
affair. In the first place I considered the manner in which the 

35 parchment had come into my possession. The spot where we 



THE GOLD-BUG I45 

discovered the scarabcetis was on the coast of the mainland, 
about a mile eastward of the island, and but a short distance 
above high-water mark. Upon my taking hold of it, it gave me 
a sharp bite, which caused me to let it drop. Jupiter, with his 
accustomed caution, before seizing the insect, which had flown 5 
towards him, looked about him for a leaf, or something of that 
nature, by which to take hold of it. It was at this moment that 
his eyes, and mine also, fell upon the scrap of parchment, which 
I then supposed to be paper. It was lying half-buried in the 
sand, a corner sticking up. Near the spot where we found it, 10 
I observed the remnants of the hull of what appeared to have 
been a ship's long boat. The wreck seemed to have been there 
for a very great while ; for the resemblance to boat timbers 
could scarcely be traced. 

" Well, Jupiter picked up the parchment, wrapped the beetle 15 
in it, and gave it to me. Soon afterwards we turned to go 

home, and on the way met Lieutenant G . I showed him 

the insect, and he begged me to let him take it to the fort. On 
my consenting, he thrust it forthwith into his waistcoat pocket, 
w^ithout the parchment in which it had been wrapped, and 20 
which I had continued to hold in my hand during his inspec- 
tion. Perhaps he dreaded my changing my mind, and thought 
it best to make sure of the prize at once — you know how 
enthusiastic he is on all subjects connected with Natural 
History. At the same time, without being conscious of it, I 25 
must have deposited the parchment in my own pocket. 

" You remember that when I went to the table, for the pur- 
pose of making a sketch of the beetle, I found no paper where 
it was usually kept. I looked in the drawer, and found none 
there. I searched my pockets, hoping to find an old letter, and 30 
then my hand tell upon the parchment. I thus detail the 
precise mode in which it came into my possession ; for the 
circumstances impressed me with peculiar force. 

" No doubt you will think me fanciful — but I had already 
established a kind of connection. I had put together two links 35 



146 SELECTIONS FROM POE 

of a great chain. There was a boat lying on a seacoast, and not 
far from the boat was a parchment — not a paper — with a 
skull depicted on it. You will, of course, ask 'where is the 
connectfon ? ' I reply that the skull, or death's-head, is the 
5 well-known emblem of the pirate. The flag of the death's- 
head is hoisted in all engagements. 

" I have said that the scrap was parchment, and not paper. 
Parchment is durable — almost imperishable. Matters of little 
moment are rarely consigned to parchment ; since, for the 

10 mere ordinary purposes of drawing or writing, it is not nearly 
so well adapted as paper. This reflection suggested some 
meaning — some relevancy — in the death's-head. I did not 
fail to observe, also, the form of the parchment. Although one 
of its corners had been, by some accident, destroyed, it could 

15 be seen that the original form was oblong. It was just such a 
slip, indeed, as might have been chosen for a memorandum — 
for a record of something to be long remembered and carefully 
preserved." 

" But," I interposed, ''you say that the skull was not upon 

20 the parchment when you made the drawing of the beetle. 
How then do you trace any connection between the boat and 
the skull — since this latter, according to your own admission, 
must have been designed (God only knows how or by whom) 
at some period subsequent to your sketching the scai-abmis? " 

25 " Ah, hereupon turns the whole mystery ; although the 
secret, at this point, I had comparatively little difficulty in 
solving. My steps were sure, and could afford but a single 
result. I reasoned, for example, thus : When I drew the scara- 
bcens, there was no skull apparent on the parchment. When I 

30 had completed the drawing I gave it to you, and observed you 

narrowly until you returned it. Yoi/, therefore, did not design 

the skull, and no one else was present to do it. Then it was 

not done by human agency. And nevertheless it was done. 

" At this stage of my reflections I endeavored to remember, 

35 and did remember, with entire distinctness, every incident 



THE GOLD-BUG 147 

which occurred about the period in question. The weather 
was chilly (O rare and happy accident !), and a fire was blazing 
on the hearth. I was heated with exercise and sat near the 
table. You, however, had drawn a chair close to the chimney. 
Just as I placed the parchment in your hand, and as you were 5 
in the act of inspecting it. Wolf, the Newfoundland, entered, 
and leaped upon your shoulders. With your left hand you 
caressed him and kept him off, while your right, holding the 
parchment, was permitted to fall listlessly between your knees, 
and in close proximity to the fire. At one moment I thought 10 
the blaze had caught it, and was about to caution you, but, 
before I could speak, you had withdrawn it, and were engaged 
in its examination. When I considered all these particulars, I 
doubted not for a moment that heat had been the agent in 
bringing to light, on the parchment, the skull which I saw 15 
designed on it. You are well aware that chemical preparations 
exist, and have existed time out of mind, by means of which it 
is possible to write on either paper or vellum, so that the 
characters shall become visible only when subjected to the 
action of fire. Zaffre, digested in aqua regia, and diluted with 20 
four times its weight of water, is sometimes employed ; a green 
tint results. The regulus of cobalt, dissolved in spirit of nitre, 
gives a red. These colors disappear at longer or shorter inter- 
vals after the material written upon cools, but again become 
apparent upon the re-appHcation of heat. 25 

" I now scrutinized the death's-head with care. Its outer 
edges — the edges of the drawing nearest the edge of the 
vellum — were far more distinct than the others. It was clear 
that the action of the caloric had been imperfect or unequal. 
I immediately kindled a fire, and subjected every portion of 30 
the parchment to a glowing heat. At first, the only effect was 
the strengthening of the faint lines in the skull ; but, on per- 
severing in the experiment, there became visible at the corner 
of the slip, diagonally opposite to the spot in which the death's- 
head was delineated, the figure of what I at first supposed to 35 



148 SELECTIONS FROM POE 

be a goat. A closer scrutiny, however, satisfied me that it was 
intended for a kid." 

" Ha ! ha ! " said I, '' to be sure I have no right to laugh at 
you — a million and a half of money is too serious a matter for 
5 mirth — but you are not about to establish a third link in your 
chain : you will not find any especial connection between your 
pirates and a goat ; pirates, you know, have nothing to do with 
goats; they appertain to the farming interest." 

" But I have just said that the figure was not that of a goat." 

10 "Well, a kid, then — pretty much the same thing." 

"Pretty much, but not altogether," said Legrand. "You 
may have heard of one Captain Kidd. I at once looked on the 
figure of the animal as a kind of punning or hieroglyphical 
signature. I say signature, because its position on the vellum 

15 suggested this idea. The death's-head at the corner diagonally 

opposite had, in the same manner, the air of a stamp, or seal. 

But I was sorely put out by the absence of all else — of the body 

to my imagined instrument — of the text for my context." 

" I presume you expected to find a letter between the stamp 

20 and the signature." 

" Something of that kind. The fact is, I felt irresistibly 
impressed with a presentiment of some vast good fortune 
impending. I can scarcely say why. Perhaps, after all, it was 
rather a desire than an actual belief ; — but do you know that 

25 Jupiter's silly words, about the bug being of solid gold, had a 
remarkable effect on my fancy? And then the series of acci- 
dents and coincidences — these were so vc7'y extraordinary. 
Do you observe how mere an accident it was that these events 
should have occurred on the sole day of all the year in which 

30 it has been, or may be, sufficiently cool for fire, and that with- 
out the fire, or without the intervention of the dog at the pre- 
cise moment in which he appeared, I should never have become 
aware of the death's-head, and so never the possessor of the 
treasure? " 

Zl '' But proceed — Tam all impatience." 



THE GOLD-BUG 149 

" Well; you have heard, of course, the many stories current 
— the thousand vague rumors afloat about money buried, some- 
where on the Atlantic coast, by Kidd and his associates. 
These rumors must have had some foundation in fact. And 
that the rumors have existed so long and so continuously, 5 
could have resulted, it appeared to me, only from the circum- 
stance of the buried treasure still remaining entombed. Had 
Kidd concealed his plunder for a time, and afterwards 
reclaimed it, the rumors would scarcely have reached us in 
their present unvarying form. You will observe that the stories 10 
told are all about money-seekers, not about money-finders. 
Had the pirate recovered his money, there the affair would 
have dropped. It seemed to me that some accident — say the 
loss of a memorandum indicating its locality — had deprived 
him of the means of recovering it, and that this accident had 15 
become known to his followers, who otherwise might never 
have heard that treasure had been concealed at all, and who, 
busying themselves in vain, because unguided, attempts to 
regain it, had given first birth, and then universal currency, 
to the reports which are now so common. Have you ever heard 20 
of any important treasure being unearthed along the coast? " 

" Never." 

" But that Kidd's accumulations were immense is well 
known. I took it for granted, therefore, that the earth still 
held them ; and you will scarcely be surprised when I tell you 25 
that I felt a hope, nearly amounting to certainty, that the 
parchment so strangely found involved a lost record of the 
place of deposit." 

"But how did you proceed? " 

" I held the vellum again to the fire, after increasing the 30 
heat, but nothing appeared. I now thought it possible that 
the coating of dirt might have something to do with the fail- 
ure ; so I carefully rinsed the parchment by pouring warm 
water over it, and, having done this, I placed it in a tin pan, 
with the skull downwards, and put the pan upon a furnace of 35 



150 SELECTIONS FROM POE 

lighted charcoal. In a few minutes, the pan having become 
thoroughly heated, I removed the slip, and, to my inexpressi- 
ble joy, found it spotted, in several places, with what appeared 
to be figures arranged in Hnes. Again I placed it in the pan, 
5 and suffered it to remain another minute. Upon taking it off, 
the whole was just as you see it now." 

Here Legrand, having reheated the parchment, submitted 
it to my inspection. The following characters were rudely 
traced, in a red tint, between the death's-head and the goat : — 

lo 53«t3o5))6*;4826)4t)4l:);8o6*;48t81I6o))85;;]8*;-4*8t83(8 

8)5*t;46(;88*96*?;8)n(;485);5*t2:*1:(;4956*2(5*— 4)8^8*;4o69 
285);)6t8)4l:1:;i(1:9;48o8i;8:8ti;48t85;4)485t5288o6*8i(t9;48;(8 
8;4a?34;48)4t;i6i;:i88;t?; 

" But," said I, returning him the slip, " I am as much in 

15 the dark as ever. Were all the jewels of Golconda awaiting me 
on my solution of this enigma, I am quite sure that I should 
be unable to earn them." 

"And yet," said Legrand, "the solution is by no means so dif- 
ficult as you might be led to imagine from the first hasty inspec- 

20 tion of the characters. These characters, as any one might 
readily guess, form a cipher — that is to say, they convey a 
meaning ; but then, from what is known of Kidd, I could not 
suppose him capable of constructing any of the more abstruse 
cryptographs. I made up my mind, at once, that this was of a 

25 simple species — such, however, as would appear, to the crude 
intellect of the sailor, absolutely insoluble without the key." 
"And you really solved it? " 

" Readily ; I have solved others of an abstruseness ten thou- 
sand times greater. Circumstances, and a certain bias of 

30 mind, have led me to take interest in such riddles, and it 
may well be doubted whether human ingenuity can construct 
an enigma of the kind which human ingenuity may not, by 
proper application, resolve. In fact, having once established 
connected and legible characters, I scarcely gave a thought 

35 to the mere difiiculty of developing their import. 



THE GOLD-BUG 151 

" In the present case — indeed in all cases of secret writing — 
the first question regards the language of the cipher ; for the 
principles of solution, so far, especially, as the more simple ciphers 
are concerned, depend on, and are varied by, the genius of the 
particular idiom. In general, there is no alternative but experi- 5 
ment (directed by probabilities) of every tongue known to him 
who attempts the solution, until the true one be attained. But, 
with the cipher now before us, all difficulty is removed by the 
signature. The pun upon the word ' Kidd ' is appreciable in 
no other language than the English. But for this consideration 10 
I should have begun my attempts with the Spanish and French, 
as the tongues in which a secret of this kind would most natu- 
rally have been written by a pirate of the Spanish main. As it 
was, I assumed the cryptograph to be Enghsh. 

"You observe there are no divisions between the words. 15 
Had there been divisions, the task would have been compara- 
tively easy. In such case I should have commenced with a 
collation and analysis of the shorter words, and, had a word 
of a single letter occurred, as is most likely {a or /, for exam- 
ple), I should have considered the solution as assured. But, 20 
there being no division, my first step was to ascertain the 
predominant letters, as well as the least frequent. Counting 
all, I constructed a table, thus : 



25 



30 



35 



Of the character 8 there 


are 33 


5 


26 


4 


19 


t) " 


16 


* u 


13 


5 


12 


6 


II 


ti 


8 


" 


6 


92 


5 


.3 


4 


? " 


3 


IF " 


2 



152 SELECTIONS FROM POE 

" Now, in English, the letter which most frequently occurs 
is e. Afterwards the succession runs thus : a o i d h 7i r s t u 
y c f g I m w b k p q X z. E predominates, however, so re- 
markably that an individual sentence of any length is rarely 
5 seen, in which it is not the prevailing character. 

" Here, then, we have, in the very beginning, the ground- 
work for something more than a mere guess. The general 
use which may be made of the table is obvious — but, in this 
particular cipher, we shall only very partially require its 

lo aid. As our predominant character is 8, we will commence 
by assuming it as the e of the natural alphabet. To verify 
the supposition, let us observe if the 8 be seen often in 
couples — for e is doubled with great frequency in English 
— in such words, for example, as 'meet,' 'fleet,' 'speed,' 

15 'seen,' 'been,' 'agree,' etc. In the present instance we see 
it doubled no less than five times, although the cryptograph 
is brief. 

" Let us assume 8, then, as c. Now, of all tuords in the 
language, ' the ' is most usual ; let us see, therefore, whether 

20 there are not repetitions of any three characters, in the same 
order of collocation, the last of them being 8. If we discover 
repetitions of such letters, so arranged, they will most probably 
represent the word ' the.' On inspection, we find no less than 
seven such arrangements, the characters being; 48. We may, 

25 therefore, assume that the semicolon represents /, that 4 
represents //, and that 8 represents e — the last being now 
well confirmed. Thus a great step has been taken. 

" But, having established a single word, we are enabled to 
establish a vastly important point ; that is to say, several 

30 commencements and terminations of other words. Let us 
refer, for example, to the last instance but one, in which com- 
bination ; 48 occurs — not far from the end of the cipher. 
We know that the semicolon immediately ensuing is the com- 
mencement of a word, and, of the six characters succeeding 

35 this ' the,' we are cognizant of no less than five. Let us set 



THE GOLD-BUG I 53 

these characters down, thus, by the letters we know them to 
represent, leaving a space for the unknown — 

t eeth 

" Here we are enabled, at once, to discard the ' //^,' as 
forming no portion of the word commencing with the first /; 5 
since, by experiment of the entire alphabet for a letter adapted 
to the vacancy, we perceive that no word can be formed of 
which this th can be a part. We are thus narrowed into 

t ee, 

and, going through the alphabet, if necessary, as before, we 10 

arrive at the word ' tree ' as the sole possible reading. We 

thus gain another letter r, represented by (, with the words 

' the tree ' in juxtaposition. 

"Looking beyond these words, for a short distance, we 

again see the combination ;48, and employ it by way of tcn)ii- 15 

nation to what immediately precedes. We have thus this 

arrangement : 

the tree ;4(t?34 the, 

or, substituting the natural letters, where known, it reads 

thus : 20 

the tree thrt?3h the. 

" Now, if, in place of the unknown characters, we leave 
blank spaces, or substitute dots, we read thus : 

the tree thr . . . h the, 

when the word ' tJiroiigh ' makes itself evident at once. But 25 
this discovery gives us three new letters, 0^ u, and g, repre- 
sented by j ? and 3. 

"■ Looking now, narrowly, through the cipher for combina- 
tions of known characters, we find, not very far from the 
beginning, this arrangement, 30 

83(88, or egree, 



154 SELECTIONS FROM POE 

which, plainly, is the conclusion of the word ' degree,' and 
gives us another letter, d^ represented by t- 

" Four letters beyond the word ' degree,' we perceive the 

combination 

5 ;46(;88* 

" Translating the known characters, and representing the 
unknown by dots, as before, we read thus : 

th . rtee, 

an arrangement immediately suggestive of the word ' thirteen,' 
10 and again furnishing us with two new characters, / and ;/, 
represented by 6 and *. 

" Referring, now, to the beginning of the cryptograph, we 
find the combination, 

53«t. 

15 "Translating as before, we obtain 

good, 

which assures us that the first letter is A^ and that the first 

two words are ' A good.' 

*'To avoid confusion, it is now time that we arrange our 

20 key, as far as discovered, in a tabular form. It will stand 

thus : 

5 represents a 



25 



30 



t 


d 


8 


' e 


3 


g 


4 


h 


6 


' i 


* 1. 


' n 


X 


' 


( ' 


' r 


5 


t 



" We have, therefore, no less than ten of the most important 
letters represented, and it will be unnecessary to proceed with 
the details of the solution. I have said enough to convince 



THE GOLD-BUG 155 

you that ciphers of this nature are readily soluble, and to give 
you some insight into the rationale of their development. But 
be assured that the specimen before us appertains to the very 
simplest species of cryptograph. It now only remains to give 
you the full translation of the characters upon the parchment, 5 
as unriddled. Here it is : 

" ' y^ good glass hi the bishop's hostel in the deviV s seat 
tivejity-one degrees and thirteen minutes northeast a?td by north 
main branch seventh limb east side shoot from the left eye of the 
death'' s-head a bee line fivm the tree through the shot fifty feet 10 
out: " 

*' But," said I, " the enigma seems still in as bad a condi- 
tion as ever. How is it possible to extort a meaning from all 
this jargon about 'devil's seats,' 'death's-heads,' and 'bishop's 
hotels'?" 15 

" I confess," replied Legrand, " that the matter still wears 
a serious aspect, when regarded with a casual glance. My first 
endeavor was to divide the sentence into the natural division 
intended by the cryptographist." 

"You mean, to punctuate it? " 20 

" Something of that kind." 

" But how was it possible to effect this? " 

" I reflected that it had been a /<?/;^/ with the writer to run 
his words together without division, so as to increase the diffi- 
culty of solution. Now, a not over-acute man, in pursuing such 25 
an object, would be nearly certain to overdo the matter. 
When, in the course of his composition, he arrived at a break 
in his subject which would naturally require a pause, or a point, 
he would be exceedingly apt to run his characters, at this 
place, more than usually close together. If you will observe 30 
the MS., in the present instance, you will easily detect five 
such cases of unusual crowding. Acting on this hint, I made 
the division thus : 

'■'■'' A good glass in the bishop's hostel in the deviVs seat — 
twenty-one degrees and thirteen minutes — northeast and by 35 



156 SELECTIONS FROM POE 

no7'th — main bratich seventh limb east side — shoot /roi?i the 
left eye of the death' s-head — a bee line f'om the tree through 
the shot fifty feet out: " 

''Even this division," said I, "leaves me still in the dark." 

5 "It left me also in the dark," rephed Legrand, "for a few 
days ; during which I made diligent inquiry, in the neighbor- 
hood of Sullivan's Island, for any building which went by the 
name of the ' Bishop's Hotel ' ; for, of course, I dropped the 
obsolete word ' hostel.' Gaining no information on the sub- 

10 ject, I was on the point of extending my sphere of search, and 
proceeding in a more systematic manner, when one morning 
it entered into my head, quite suddenly, that this * Bishop's 
Hostel ' might have some reference to an old family, of the 
name of Bessop, which, time out of mind, had held possession 

15 of an ancient manor-house, about four miles to the northward 

of the island. I accordingly went over to the plantation, and 

reinstituted my inquiries among the older negroes of the 

place. At length one of the most aged of the women said 

■ that she had heard of such a place as Bessofs Castle, and 

20 thought that she could guide me to it, but that it was not a 
castle, nor a tavern, but a high rock. 

" I offered to pay her well for her trouble, and, after some 
demur, she consented to accompany me to the spot. We 
found it without much difficulty, when, dismissing her, I pro- 

25 ceeded to examine the place. The 'castle' consisted of an 
irregular assemblage of cliffs and rocks — one of the latter 
being quite remarkable for its height as well as for its insulated 
and artificial appearance. I clambered to its apex, and then 
felt much at a loss as to what should be next done. 

30 " While I was busied in reflection, my eyes fell on a narrow 
ledge in the eastern face of the rock, perhaps a yard below 
the summit upon which I stood. This ledge projected about 
eighteen inches, and was not more than a foot wide, while a 
niche in the cliff just above it gave it a rude resemblance to 

35 one of the hollow-backed chairs used by our ancestors. I made 



THE GOLD-BUG I 57 

no doubt that here was the ' devil's seat ' alluded to in the MS., 
and now I seemed to grasp the full secret of the riddle. 

" The ' good glass,' I knew, could have reference to nothing 
but a telescope ; for the word ' glass ' is rarely employed in any 
other sense by seamen. Now here, I at once saw, was a tele- 5 
scope to be used, and a definite point of view, admitting no 
variation^ from which to use it. Nor did I hesitate to believe 
that the phrases, ' twenty-one degrees and thirteen minutes,' 
and ' northeast and by north,' were intended as directions for 
the levelhng of the glass. Greatly excited by these discoveries, 10 
I hurried home, procured a telescope, and returned to the rock. 

" I let myself down to the ledge, and found that it was 
impossible to retain a seat on it unless in one particular posi- 
tion. This fact confirmed my preconceived idea. I proceeded 
to use the glass. Of course, the 'twenty-one degrees and 15 
thirteen minutes ' could allude to nothing but elevation above 
the visible horizon, since the horizontal direction was clearly 
indicated by the words, ' northeast and by north.' This latter 
direction I at once established by means of a pocket-compass ; 
then, pointing the glass as nearly at an angle of twenty-one 20 
degrees of elevation as I could do it by guess, I moved it 
cautiously up or down, until my attention was arrested by a 
circular rift or opening in the foliage of a large tree that over- 
topped its fellows in the distance. In the centre of this rift I 
perceived a white spot, but could not, at first, distinguish 25 
what it was. Adjusting the focus of the telescope, I again 
looked, and now made it out to be a human skull. 

*' On this discovery I was so sanguine as to consider the 
enigma solved ; for the phrase ' main branch, seventh limb, 
east side,' could refer only to the position of the skull on the 30 
tree, while * shoot from the left eye of the death's-head ' 
admitted, also, of but one interpretation, in regard to a search 
for buried treasure. I perceived that the design was to drop 
a bullet from the left eye of the skull, and that a bee-line, or, 
in other words, a straight line, drawn from the nearest point 35 



158 SELECTIONS FROM POE 

of the trunk through ' the shot ' (or the spot where the bullet 
fell), and thence extended to a distance of fifty feet, would 
indicate a definite point — and beneath this point I thought 
it at \Q2iS^ possible that a deposit of value lay concealed." 
5 " All this," I said, " is exceedingly clear, and, although 
ingenious, still simple and explicit. When you left the Bishop's 
Hotel, what then?" 

"Why, having carefully taken the bearings of the tree, I 
turned homewards. The instant that I left ' the devil's seat,' 

lo however, the circular rift vanished ; nor could I get a glimpse 
of it afterwards, turn as I would. What seems to me the chief 
ingenuity in this whole business, is the fact (for repeated experi- 
ment has convinced me it is a fact) that the circular opening 
in question is visible from no other attainable point of view 

15 than that afforded by the narrow ledge on the face of the rock. 
" In this expedition to the ' Bishop's Hotel ' I had been 
attended by Jupiter, who had no doubt observed, for some 
weeks past, the abstraction of my demeanor, and took espe- 
cial care not to leave me alone. But on the next day, getting 

20 up very early, I contrived to give him the slip, and went into 
the hills in search of the tree. After much toil I found it. 
When I came home at night my valet proposed to give me a 
flogging. With the rest of the adventure I believe you are as 
well acquainted as myself." 

25 "I suppose," said I, ''you missed the spot, in the first attempt 

at digging, through Jupiter's stupidity in letting the bug fall 

through the right instead of through the left eye of the skull." 

" Precisely. This mistake made a difference of about two 

inches and a half in the ' shot ' — that is to say, in the position 

30 of the peg nearest the tree ; and had the treasure been beneath 
the ' shot,' the error would have been of little moment ; but 
* the shot,' together with the nearest point of the tree, were 
merely two points for the establishment of a line of direction ; 
of course the error, however trivial in the beginning, increased 

35 as we proceeded with the line, and, by the time we had gone 



THE GOLD-BUG I 59 

fifty feet, threw us quite off the scent. But for my deep-seated 
convictions that treasure was here somewhere actually buried, 
we might have had all our labor in vain." 

*' I presume the fancy of the skull — of letting fall a bullet 
through the skull's eye — was suggested to Kidd by the pirat- 5 
ical flag. No doubt he felt a kind of poetical consistency in 
recovering his money through this ominous insignium." 

'' Perhaps so ; still, I cannot help thinking that common 
sense had quite as much to do with the matter as poetical 
consistency. To be visible from the devil's seat, it was neces- 10 
sary that the object, if small, should be white ; and there is 
nothing like your human skull for retaining and even increas- 
ing its whiteness under exposure to all vicissitudes of weather." 

*^But your grandiloquence, and your conduct in swinging 
the beetle — how excessively odd ! I was sure you were mad. 15 
And why did you insist on letting fall the bug, instead of a 
bullet, from the skull?" 

" Why, to be frank, I felt somewhat annoyed by your evi- 
dent suspicions touching my sanity, and so resolved to punish 
you quietly, in my own way, by a little bit of sober mystifica- 20 
tion. For this reason I swung the beetle, and for this reason 
I let it fall from the tree. An observation of yours about 
its great weight suggested the latter idea." 

*' Yes, I perceive ; and now there is only one point which puzzles 
me. What are we to make of the skeletons found in the hole ? " 25 

" That is a question I am no more able to answer than your- 
self. There seems, however, only one plausible way of account- 
ing for them — and yet it is dreadful to believe in such atrocity 
as my suggestion would imply. It is clear that Kidd — if Kidd 
indeed secreted this treasure, which I doubt not — it is clear 30 
that he must have had assistance in the labor. But, the worst 
of this labor concluded, he may have thought it expedient to 
remove all participants in his secret. Perhaps a couple of blows 
with a mattock were sufficient, while his coadjutors were busy 
in the pit ; perhaps it required a dozen — who shall tell? " 35 



THE PURLOINED LETTER 

Nil sapientiae odiosius acumine nimio. 

Seneca 

At Paris, just after dark one gusty evening in the autumn of 
1 8 — , I was enjoying the twofold luxury of meditation and a 
meerschaum, in company with my friend C. Auguste Dupin, in 
his little back library, or book closet, an troisihne, No. 33, 
5 Rue Dunot, Faubourg St. Germain. For one hour at least we 
had maintained a profound silence ; while each, to any casual 
observer, might have seemed intently and exclusively occupied 
with the curling eddies of smoke that oppressed the atmos- 
phere of the chamber. For myself, however, I was mentally 

10 discussing certain topics which had formed matter for conver- 
sation between us at an earlier period of the evening ; I mean 
the affair of the Rue Morgue, and the mystery attending the 
murder of Marie Roget. I looked upon it, therefore, as some- 
thing of a coincidence, when the door of our apartment was 

15 thrown open and admitted our old acquaintance. Monsieur 

G , the Prefect of the Parisian police. 

We gave him a hearty welcome ; for there was nearly half as 
much of the entertaining as of the contemptible about the man, 
and we had not seen him for several years. We had been sit- 

20 ting in the dark, and Dupin now arose for the purpose of light- 
ing a lamp, but sat down again, without doing so, upon 

G 's saying that he had called to consult us, or rather to 

ask the opinion of my friend, about some official business which 
had occasioned a great deal of trouble. 

25 '' If it is any point requiring reflection," observed Dupin, as 
he forebore to enkindle the wick, *'we shall examine it to 
better purpose in the dark." 

160 



THE PURLOINED LETTER l6l 

" That is another of your odd notions," said the Prefect, who 
had a fashion of calHng everything " odd " that was beyond his 
comprehension, and thus Hved amid an absokite legion of 
'^ oddities." 

"Very true," said Dupin, as he suppHed his visitor with a 5 
pipe, and rolled towards him a comfortable chair. 

"And what is the difficulty now?" I asked. "Nothing 
more in the assassination way, I hope? " 

" Oh, no ; nothing of that nature. The fact is, the business 
is very simple indeed, and I make no doubt that we can manage 10 
it sufficiently well ourselves ; but then I thought Dupin would 
like to hear the details of it, because it is so excessively oddy\^j<s 

" Simple and odd," said Dupin. 

" Why, yes ; and not exactly that, either. The fact is, we 
have all been a good deal puzzled because the affair is so simple, 15 
and yet baffles us altogether." 

" Perhaps it is the very simplicity of the thing which puts 
you at fault," said my friend. 

" What nonsense you do talk ! " replied the Prefect, laughing 
heartily. 20 

" Perhaps the mystery is a Httle too plain," said Dupin. 

" Oh, good Heavens ! who ever heard of such an idea? " 

"A little too self-evident." 

" Ha !■ ha ! ha ! — ha ! ha ! ha ! — ho ! ho ! ho ! " roared 
our visitor, profoundly amused. " O Dupin, you will be the 25 
death of me yet ! " 

" And what, after all, is the matter on hand? " I asked. 

" Why, I will tell you," replied the Prefect, as he gave a long, 
steady, and contemplative puff, and settled himself in his chair, 
" I will tell you in a few words ; but, before I begin, let me 30 
caution you that this is an affair demanding the greatest 
secrecy, and that I should most probably lose the position I 
now hold were it known that I confided it to any one." 

"Proceed," said L 

" Or not," said Dupin. 35 



l62 SELECTIONS FROM POE 

" Well, then ; I have received personal information, from a 
very high quarter, that a certain document of the last impor- 
tance has been purloined from the royal apartments. The 
individual who purloined it is knov^^n ; this beyond a doubt ; he 
5 v^as seen to take it. It is known, also, that it still remains in 
his possession." 

" How is this known ? " asked Dupin. 

" It is clearly inferred," replied the Prefect, " from the nature 

of the document, and from the non-appearance of certain 

lo results which would at once arise from its passing out of the 

robber's possession; that is to say, from his employing it as he 

must design in the end to employ it." 

" Be a Httle more explicit," I said. 

" Well, I may venture so far as to say that the paper gives its 
15 holder a certain power in a certain quarter where such power 
is immensely valuable." The Prefect was fond of the cant of 
diplomacy. 

" Still I do not quite understand," said Dupin. 

*'No? well; the disclosure of the document to a third 
20 person, who shall be nameless, would bring in question the 
honor of a personage of most exalted station ; and this fact 
gives the holder of the document an ascendency over the illus- 
trious personage whose honor and peace are so jeopardized." 

" But this ascendency," I interposed, "would depend upon 
25 the robber's knowledge of the loser's knowledge of the robber. 
Who would dare — " 

"The thief," said G , "is the Minister D , who 

dares all things, those unbecoming as well as those becoming 
a man. The method of the theft was not less ingenious than 
30 bold. The document in question — a letter, to be frank — had 
been received by the personage robbed while alone in the 
royal boudoir. During its perusal she was suddenly interrupted 
by the entrance of the other exalted personage, from whom 
especially it was her wish to conceal it. After a hurried and 
35 vain endeavor to thrust it in a drawer, she was forced to place 



THE PURLOINED LETTER 163 

it, open as it was, upon a table. The address, however, was 
uppermost, and, the contents thus unexposed, the letter escaped 

notice. At this juncture enters the Minister D . His 

lynx eye immediately perceives the paper, recognizes the hand- 
writing of the address, observes the confusion of the personage 5 
addressed, and fathoms her secret. After some business trans- 
actions, hurried through in his ordinary manner, he produces a 
letter somewhat similiar to the one in question, opens it, pre- 
tends to read it, and then places it in close juxtaposition to 
the other. Again he converses for some fifteen minutes upon 10 
the public affairs. At length, in taking leave, he takes also 
from the table the letter to which he had no claim. Its right- 
ful owner saw, but, of course, dared not call attention to the 
act, in the presence of the third personage, who stood at her 
elbow. The Minister decamped, leaving his own letter — one 15 
of no importance — upon the table." 

" Here, then," said Dupin to me, " you have precisely what 
you demand to make the ascendency complete — the robber's 
knowledge of the loser's knowledge of the robber." 

"Yes," replied the Prefect; "and the power thus attained 20 
has, for some months past, been wielded, for political pur- 
poses, to a very dangerous extent. The personage robbed is 
more thoroughly convinced, every day, of the necessity of 
reclaiming her letter. But this, of course, cannot be done 
openly. In fine, driven to despair, she has committed the 25 
matter to me." 

"Than whom," said Dupin, amid a perfect whirlwind of 
smoke, " no more sagacious agent could, I suppose, be desired, 
or even imagined." 

"You flatter me," replied the Prefect; "but it is possible 30 
that some such opinion may have been entertained." 

" It is clear," said I, "as you observe, that the letter is still 
in possession of the Minister ; since it is this possession, and 
not any employment of the letter, which bestows the power. 
With the employment the power departs." 35 



l64 SELECTIONS FROM POE 

" True," said G ; " and upon this conviction I pro- 
ceeded. My first care was to make thorough search of the 
Minister's Hotel ; and here my chief embarrassment lay in the 
necessity of searching without his knowledge. Beyond all 
5 things, I have been warned of the danger which would result 
from giving him reason to suspect our design," 

" But," said I, ''you are quite aufait'm. these investigations. 
The Parisian police have done this thing often before." 

'' Oh, yes ; and for this reason I did not despair. The habits 
lo of the Minister gave me, too, a great advantage. He is fre- 
quently absent from home all night. His servants are by no 
means numerous. They sleep at a distance from their master's 
apartment, and, being chiefly Neapolitans, are readily made 
drunk. I have keys, as you know, with which I can open any 
15 chamber or cabinet in Paris. For three months a night has 
not passed, during the greater part of which I have not been 

engaged, personally, in ransacking the D Hotel. My 

honor is interested, and, to mention a great secret, the reward 
is enormous. So I did not abandon the search until I had 
20 become fully satisfied the thief is a more astute man than 
myself. I fancy that I have investigated every nook and 
corner of the premises in which it is possible that the paper 
can be concealed." 

" But is it not possible," I suggested, ''that although the letter 

25 may be in possession of the Minister, as it unquestionably is, he 

may have concealed it elsewhere than upon his own premises? " 

"This is barely possible," said Dupin. " The present pecu- 
liar condition of affairs at court, and especially of those 

intrigues in which D is known to be involved, would 

30 render the instant availability of the document — its suscepti- 
bility of being produced at a moment's notice — a point of 
nearly equal importance with its possession." 

" Its susceptibility of being produced? " said I. 

"That is to say, of being destroyed,''' said Dupin. 
35 "True," I observed; "the paper is clearly then upon the 



THE PURLOINED LETTER 165 

premises. As for its being upon the person of the Minister, we 
may consider that as out of the question." 

'' Entirely," said the Prefect. *' He has been twice waylaid, 
as if by footpads, and his person rigorously searched under my 
own inspection." 5 

" You might have spared yourself this trouble," said Dupin. 

" D , I presume, is not altogether a fool, and, if not, must 

have anticipated these waylayings, as a matter of course." 

"Not altogether a fool," said G , "but then he's a 

poet, which I take to be only one remove from a fool." 10 

" True," said Dupin, after a long and thoughtful whiff from 
his meerschaum, " although I have been guilty of certain dog- 
gerel myself." 

" Suppose you detail," said I, " the particulars of your search." 

"Why, the fact is, we took our time, and we searched 15 
everywhere. I have had long experience in these affairs. I 
took the entire building, room by room, devoting the nights 
of a whole week to each. We examined, first, the furniture of 
each apartment. We opened every possible drawer; and I 
presume you know that, to a properly trained police agent, 20 
such a thing as a secret drawer is impossible. Any man is a 
dolt who permits a * secret ' drawer to escape him in a search 
of this kind. The thing is so plain. There is a certain amount 
of bulk — of space — to be accounted for in every cabinet. 
Then we have accurate rules. The fiftieth part of a line could 25 
not escape us. After the cabinets we took the chairs. The 
cushions we probed with the fine long needles you have seen 
me employ. From the tables we removed the tops." 

"Why so?" 

" Sometimes the top of a table, or other similarly arranged 30 
piece of furniture, is removed by the person wishing to con- 
ceal an article ; then the leg is excavated, the article deposited 
within the cavity, and the top replaced. The bottoms and 
tops of bedposts are employed in the same way." 

"But could not the cavity be detected by sounding? " I asked. 35 



l66 SELECTIONS FROM POE 

" By no means, if, when the article is deposited, a siifificient 
wadding of cotton be placed around it. Besides, in our case 
we were obliged to proceed without noise." 

" But you could not have removed — you could not have 
5 taken to pieces all articles of furniture in which it would have 
been possible to make a deposit in the manner you mention. 
A letter may be compressed into a thin spiral roll, not differing 
much in shape or bulk from a large knitting-needle, and in 
this form it might be inserted into the rung of a chair, for 
10 example. You did not take to pieces all the chairs? " 

"Certainly not; but we did better — we examined the 
rungs of every chair in the Hotel, and indeed, the jointings of 
every description of furniture, by the aid of a most powerful 
microscope. Had there been any traces of recent disturbance 
15 we should not have failed to detect it instantly. A single 
grain of gimlet-dust, for example, would have been as obvious 
as an apple. Any disorder in the gluing — any unusual gaping 
in the joints — would have sufficed to insure detection." 

" I presume you looked to the mirrors, between the boards 
20 and the plates, and you probed the beds and the bedclothes, 
as well as the curtains and carpets? " 

" That, of course ; and when we had absolutely completed 
every particle of the furniture in this way, then we examined 
the house itself. We divided its entire surface into compart- 
25 ments, which we numbered, so that none might be missed; 
then we scrutinized each individual square inch throughout 
the premises, including the two houses immediately adjoining, 
with the microscope, as before." 

"The two houses adjoining!" I exclaimed; "you must 
30 have had a great deal of trouble." 

"We had; but the reward offered is prodigious." 

" You include the g7'ounds about the houses? " 

"All the grounds are paved with bricks. They gave us 
comparatively little trouble. We examined the moss between 
35 the bricks, and found it undisturbed." 



THE PURLOINED LETTER 167 

" You looked among D 's papers, of course, and into 

the books of the library? " 

" Certainly ; we opened every package and parcel ; we not 
only opened every book, but we turned over every leaf in each 
volume, not contenting ourselves with a mere shake, according 5 
to the fashion of some of our police officers. We also measured 
the thickness of every hook- cover, with the most accurate 
admeasurement, and applied to each the most jealous scrutiny 
of the microscope. Had any of the bindings been recently 
meddled with, it would have been utterly impossible that the 10 
fact should have escaped observation. Some five or six vol- 
umes, just from the hands of the binder, we carefully probed, 
longitudinally, with the needles." 

" You explored the floors beneath the carpets? " 

"Beyond doubt. We removed every carpet, and examined 15 
the boards with the microscope." 

" And the paper on the walls? " 

"Yes." 

" You looked into the cellars? " 

" We did." 20 

"Then," I said, "you have been making a miscalculation, 
and the letter is nof upon the premises, as you suppose." 

" I fear you are right there," said the Prefect. " And now, 
Dupin, what would you advise me to do? " 

"To make a thorough re-search of the premises." 25 

" That is absolutely needless," replied G — . " I am not more 
sure that I breathe than I am that the letter is not at the Hotel." 

" I have no better advice to give you," said Dupin. 

" You have, of course, an accurate description of the letter? " 

" Oh, yes ! " — And here the Prefect, producing a memoran- 30 
dum-book, proceeded to read aloud a minute account of the 
internal, and especially of the external appearance of the miss- 
ing document. Soon after finishing the perusal of this de- 
scription, he took his departure, more entirely depressed in 
spirits than I had ever known the good gentleman before. 35 



l68 SELECTIONS FROM POE 

In about a month afterwards he paid us another visit, and found 
us occupied very nearly as before. He took a pipe and a chair 
and entered into some ordinary conversation. At length I said, — 

"Well, but, G , what of the purloined letter? I pre- 

5 sume you have at last made up your mind th\t there is no 
such thing as overreaching the Minister? " 

" Confound him, say I — yes ; I made the re- examination, 
however, as Dupin suggested — but it was all labor lost, as I 
knew it would be." 
lo *' How much was the reward offered, did you say?" asked 
Dupin. 

"Why, a very great deal — a very liberal reward — I don't 
like to say how much, precisely; but one thing I will say, 
that I wouldn't mind giving my individual check for fifty 
15 thousand francs to any one who could obtain me that letter. 
The fact is, it is becoming of more and more importance every 
day; and the reward has been lately doubled. If it were 
trebled, however, I could do no more than I have done." 
"Why, yes," said Dupin, drawlingly, between the whiffs of 

20 his meerschaum, " I really — think, G , you have not 

exerted yourself — to the utmost in this matter. You might 
— do a Httle more, I think, eh? " 
" How? — in what way? " 

" Why — puff, puff — you might — puff, puff — employ 
25 counsel in the matter, eh ? — puff, puff, puff. Do you remem- 
ber the story they tell of Abernethy? " 
" No ; hang Abernethy ! " 

"To be sure ! hang him and welcome. But, once upon a time, 

a certain rich miser conceived the design of sponging upon this 

30 Abernethy for a medical opinion. Getting up, for this purpose, 

an ordinary conversation in a private company, he insinuated 

his case to the physician, as that of an imaginary individual. 

" ' We will suppose,' said the miser, ' that his symptoms are 
such and such ; now, doctor, what would you have directed 
35 him to take ? ' 



THE PURLOINED LETTER 169 

" 'Take ! ' said Abernethy, 'why, take advice, to be sure.' " 

*' But," said the Prefect, a Uttle discomposed, "I 2ivs\pei'fectly 
wiUing to take advice, and to pay for it. I would really give fifty 
thousand francs to any one who would aid me in the matter." 

" In that case," replied Dupin, opening a drawer, and pro- 5 
ducing a check-book, " you may as well fill me up a check for 
the amount mentioned. When you have signed it, I will hand 
you the letter." 

I was astounded. The Prefect appeared absolutely thunder- 
stricken. For some minutes he remained speechless and 10 
motionless, looking incredulously at my friend with open 
mouth, and eyes that seemed starting from their sockets; 
then, apparently recovering himself in some measure, he 
seized a pen, and after several pauses and vacant stares, 
finally filled up and signed a check for fifty thousand francs, 15 
and handed it across the table to Dupin. The latter examined 
it carefully and deposited it in his pocketbook ; then, unlock- 
ing an eserifoire, took thence a letter and gave it to the Pre- 
fect. This functionary grasped it in a perfect agony of joy, 
opened it with a trembling hand, cast a rapid glance at its 20 
contents, and then, scrambUng and struggling to the door, 
rushed at length unceremoniously from the room and from 
the house, without having uttered a syllable since Dupin had 
requested him to fill up the check. 

When he had gone, my friend entered into some explanations. 25 

"The Parisian police," he said, "are exceedingly able in 
their way. They are persevering, ingenious, cunning, and 
thoroughly versed in the knowledge which their duties seem 

chiefly to demand. Thus, when G detailed to us his 

mode of searching the premises at the Hotel D , I felt 30 

entire confidence in his having made a satisfactory investiga- 
tion — so far as his labors extended." 

" So far as his labors extended? " said L 

" Yes," said Dupin. " The measures adopted were not only 
the best of their kind, but carried out to absolute perfection. 35 



lyo SELECTIONS FROM POE 

Had the letter been deposited within the range of their search, 
these fellows would, beyond a question, have found it." 

I merely laughed — but he seemed quite serious in all that 
he said. 
5 " The measures, then," he continued, " were good in their 
kind, and well executed ; their defect lay in their being inap- 
pHcable to the case, and to the man. A certain set of highly 
ingenious resources are, with the Prefect, a sort of Procrus- 
tean bed to which he forcibly adapts his designs. But he 

lo perpetually errs by being too deep or too shallow, for the 
matter in hand ; and many a schoolboy is a better reasoner 
than he. I knew one about eight years of age, whose success 
at guessing in the game of ' even and odd ' attracted universal 
admiration. This game is simple, and is played with marbles. 

15 One player holds in his hand a number of these toys, and 
demands of another whether that number is even or odd. If 
the guess is right, the guesser wins one ; if wrong, he loses 
one. The boy to whom I allude won all the marbles of the 
school. Of course he had some principle of guessing; and 

20 this lay in mere observation and admeasurement of the astute- 
ness of his opponents. For example, an arrant simpleton is 
his opponent, and, holding up his closed hand asks, ' Are they 
even or odd?' Our schoolboy replies, 'odd,' and loses; but 
upon the second trial he wins, for he then says to himself, 

25 ' the simpleton had them even upon the first trial, and his 
amount of cunning is just sufficient to make him have them 
odd upon the second ; I will therefore guess odd ; ' he guesses 
odd, and wins. Now, with a simpleton a degree above the 
first he would have reasoned thus : * This fellow finds that in 

30 the first instance I guessed odd, and, in the second, he will 
propose to himself, upon the first impulse, a simple variation 
from even to odd, as did the first simpleton ; but then a sec- 
ond thought will suggest that this is too simple a variation, 
and finally he will decide upon putting it even as before. I 

35 will therefore guess even ; ' he guesses even, and wins. Now 



THE PURLOINED LETTER 171 

this mode of reasoning in the schoolboy, whom his fellows 
term 'lucky,' — w^hat, in its last analysis, is it?" 

"It is merely," I said, "an identification of the reasoner's 
intellect with that of his opponent." 

"It is," said Dupin ; " and, upon inquiring of the boy by 5 
what means he effected the thorough identification in which 
his success consisted, I received answ^er as follows : ' When I 
wish to find out how wise, or how stupid, or how good, or 
how wicked is any one, or what are his thoughts at the 
moment, I fashion the expression of my face, as accurately as 10 
possible, in accordance with the expression of his, and then 
wait to see what thoughts or sentiments arise in my mind or 
heart, as if to match or correspond with the expression.' This 
response of the schoolboy lies at the bottom of all the spuri- 
ous profundity which has been attributed to Rochefoucauld, 15 
to La Bruyere, to Machiavelli, and to Campanella." 

"And the identification," I said, "of the reasoner's intel- 
lect with that of his opponent, depends, if I understand you 
aright, upon the accuracy with which the opponent's intellect 
is admeasured." 20 

" For its practical value it depends upon this," replied 
Dupin, " and the Prefect and his cohort fail so frequently, 
first, by default of this identification, and, secondly, by ill- 
admeasurement, or rather through non-admeasurement, of the 
intellect with which they are engaged. They consider only 25 
their own ideas of ingenuity ; and, in searching for anything 
hidden, advert only to the modes in which they would have 
hidden it. They are right in this much — that their own 
ingenuity is a faithful representative of that of the mass : but 
when the cunning of the individual felon is diverse in character 30 
from their own, the felon foils them, of course. This always 
happens when it is above their own, and very usually when it 
is below. They have no variation of principle in their investi- 
gations; at best, when urged by some unusual emergency — 
by some extraordinary reward — they extend or exaggerate 35 



1/2 SELECTIONS FROM POE 

their old modes of practice^ without touching their principles. 

What, for example, in this case of D , has been done to 

vary the principle of action? What is all this boring, and 
probing, and sounding, and scrutinizing with the microscope, 
5 and dividing the surface of the building into registered square 
inches — what is it all but an exaggeration of the application 
of the one principle or set of principles of search, which are 
based upon the one set of notions regarding human ingenuity, 
to which the Prefect, in the long routine of his duty, has been 

lo accustomed? Do you not see he has taken it for granted that 
all men proceed to conceal a letter, — not exactly in a gimlet- 
hole bored in a chair leg — but, at least, in some out-of-the- 
way hole or corner suggested by the same tenor of thought 
which would urge a man to secrete a letter in a gimlet-hole 

15 bored in a chair-leg? And do you not see, also, that such 
recherches nooks for concealment are adapted only for ordi- 
nary occasions and would be adopted only by ordinary intel- 
lects ; for, in all cases of concealment, a disposal of the article 
concealed — a disposal of it in this 7'echerche manner — is, 

20 in the very first instance, presumable and presumed ; and 
thus its discovery depends, not at all upon the acumen, but 
altogether upon the mere care, patience, and determination 
of the seekers ; and where the case is of importance — or, 
what amounts to the same thing in policial eyes, when the 

25 reward is of magnitude — the qualities in question have never 
been known to fail. You will now understand what I meant 
in suggesting that, had the purloined letter been hidden any- 
where within the limits of the Prefect's examination — in 
other words, had the principle of its concealment been com- 

30 prehended within the principles of the Prefect — its discovery 
would have been a matter altogether beyond question. This 
functionary, however, has been thoroughly mystified ; and the 
remote source of his defeat lies in the supposition that the 
Minister is a fool, because he has acquired renown as a poet. 

35 All fools are poets ; this the Prefect feels ; and he is merely 



THE PURLOINED LETTER 173 

guilty of a non distributio inedii in thence inferring that all 
poets are fools." 

"But is this really the poet?" I asked. "There are two 
brothers, I know; and both have attained reputation in 
letters. The Minister, I believe, has written learnedly on the 5 
Differential Calculus. He is a mathematician, and no poet" 

" You are mistaken ; I know him well ; he is both. As poet 
and mathematician, he would reason well ; as mere mathemati- 
cian, he could not have reasoned at all, and thus would have 
been at the mercy of the Prefect." 10 

" You surprise me," I said, " by these opinions, which have 
been contradicted by the voice of the world. You do not mean 
to set at naught the well-digested idea of centuries. The 
mathematical reason has long been regarded as the reason/^/- 
excellence y 15 

" '■ Il-y-a a parier,^ " replied Dupin, quoting from Chamfort, 
" ' que lonte idee piibliqiie^ toiite convention re^ue, est une sottise, 
car elle a conve7iiie an pins grand nombre' The mathemati- 
cians, I grant you, have done their best to promulgate the 
popular error to which you allude, and which is none the less 20 
an error for its promulgation as truth. With an art worthy a 
better cause, for example, they have insinuated the term 
' analysis ' into application to algebra. The French are the 
originators of this particular deception ; but if a term is of any 
importance — if words derive any value from applicabihty — 25 
then ' analysis ' conveys ' algebra,' about as much as, in Latin, 
' ambitus ' implies ' ambition,' ' religio^^ ' religion,' or ' homines 
honesti,'' a set of honorable men." 

" You have a quarrel on hand, I see," said I, " with some of 
the algebraists of Paris ; but proceed." 30 

" I dispute the availability, and thus the value, of that reason 
which is cultivated in any especial form other than the abstractly 
logical. I dispute, in particular, the reason educed by mathe- 
matical study. The mathematics are the science of form and 
quantity; mathematical reasoning is merely logic applied to 35 



174 SELECTIONS FROM POE 

observation upon form and quantity. The great error lies in 
supposing that even the truths of what is called pure algebra 
are abstract or general truths. And this error is so egregious 
that I am confounded at the universality with which it has 
5 been received. Mathematical axioms are w^/ axioms of general 
truth. What is true of relation — of form and quantity — is 
often grossly false in regard to morals, for example. In this 
latter science it is very usually ////true that the aggregated 
parts are equal to the whole. In chemistry also the axiom 

lo fails. In the consideration of motive it fails ; for two motives, 
each of a given value, have not, necessarily, a value when 
united, equal to the sum of their values apart. There are 
numerous other mathematical truths which are only truths 
within the limits of relation. But the mathematician argues, 

15 from his finite truths^ through habit, as if they were of an 
absolutely general applicability — as the world indeed imagines 
them to be. Bryant, in his very learned * Mythology,' mentions 
an analogous source of error, when he says that ' although the 
Pagan fables are not believed, yet we forget ourselves continu- 

20 ally, and make inferences from them as existing realities.' 
With the algebraists, however, who are Pagans themselves, the 
' Pagan fables ' are believed, and the inferences are made, not 
so much through lapse of memory, as through an unaccountable 
addling of the brains. In short, I never yet encountered the 

25 mere mathematician who could be trusted out of equal roots, 
or one who did not clandestinely hold it as a point of his faith 
that x"" -\- px was absolutely and unconditionally equal to q. 
Say to one of these gentlemen, by way of experiment, if you 
please, that you believe occasions may occur where x^ -\-px is 

30 not altogether equal to </, and, having made him understand 
what you mean, get out of his reach as speedily as convenient, 
for, beyond doubt, he will endeavor to knock you down. 

" I mean to say," continued Dupin, while I merely laughed 
at his last observations, " that if the Minister had been no more 

35 than a mathematician, the Prefect would have been under no 



THE PURLOINED LETTER 175 

necessity of giving me this check. I knew him, however, as 
both mathematician and poet, and my measures were adapted 
to his capacity, with reference to the circumstances by which 
he was surrounded. I knew him as courtier, too, and as a bold 
intriguant. Such a man, I considered, could not fail to be 5 
aware of the ordinary policial modes of action. He could not 
have failed to anticipate — and events have proved that he 
did not fail to anticipate — the waylayings to which he was 
subjected. He must have foreseen, I reflected, the secret 
investigations of his premises. His frequent absences from 10 
home at night, which were hailed by the Prefect as certain aids 
to his success, I regarded only as ruses, to afford opportunity 
for thorough search to the police, and thus the sooner to 

impress them with the conviction to which G , in fact, did 

finally arrive — the conviction that the letter was not upon the 15 
premises. I felt, also, that the whole train of thought, which I 
was at some pains in detailing to you just now, concerning the 
invariable principle of policial action in searches for articles 
concealed — I felt that this whole train of thought would 
necessarily pass through the mind of the Minister. It would 20 
imperatively lead him to despise all the ordinary nooks of con- 
cealment. He could not, I reflected, be so weak as not to see 
that the most intricate and remote recess of his Hotel would be 
as open as his commonest closets to the eyes, to the probes, to 
the gimlets, and to the microscopes of the Prefect. I saw, in 25 
fine, that he would be driven, as a matter of course, to simpli- 
city, if not deliberately induced to it as a matter of choice. 
You will remember, perhaps, how desperately the Prefect 
laughed when I suggested, upon our first interview, that it was 
just possible this mystery troubled him so much on account of 30 
its being so very self-evident." 

" Yes," said I, " I remember his merriment well. I really 
thought he would have fallen into convulsions." 

"The material world," continued Dupin, "abounds with 
very strict analogies to the immaterial ; and thus some color of 35 



1/6 SELECTIONS FROM POE 

truth has been given to the rhetorical dogma, that metaphor, 
or simile, may be made to strengthen an argument, as well as 
to embellish a description. The principle of the vis inerticE^ 
for example, seems to be identical in physics and metaphysics. 
5 It is not more true in the former, that a large body is with 
more difficulty set in motion than a smaller one, and that its 
subsequent momentum is commensurate with this difficulty, 
than it is, in the latter, that intellects of the vaster capacity, 
while more forcible, more constant, and more eventful in their 

10 movements than those of inferior grade, are yet the less readily 
moved, and more embarrassed and full of hesitation in the 
first few steps of their progress. Again : have you ever noticed 
which of the street signs, over the shop-doors, are the most 
attractive of attention? " 

15 "I have never given the matter a thought," I said. 

" There is a game of puzzles," he resumed, *' which is played 
upon a map. One party playing requires another to find a 
given word — the name of town, river, state, or empire — any 
word, in short, upon the motley and perplexed surface of the 

20 chart. A novice in the game generally seeks to embarrass his 
opponents by giving them the most minutely lettered names; 
but the adept selects such words as stretch, in large characters, 
from one end of the chart to the other. These, like the over- 
largely lettered signs and placards of the street, escape obser- 

25 vation by dint of being excessively obvious ; and here the 
physical oversight is precisely analogous with the moral inappre- 
hension by which the intellect sujffers to pass unnoticed those 
considerations which are too obtrusively and too palpably self- 
evident. But this is a point, it appears, somewhat above or be- 

30 neath the understanding of the Prefect. He never once thought 
it probable, or possible, that the Minister had deposited the let- 
ter immediately beneath the nose of the whole world, by way 
of best preventing any portion of that world from perceiving it. 
" But the more I reflected upon the daring, dashing, and 

35 discriminating ingenuity of D ; upon the fact that the 



THE PURLOINED LETTER 



177 



document must always have been at hand, if he intended to 
use it to good purpose ; and upon the decisive evidence, 
obtained by the Prefect, that it was not hidden within the 
limits of that dignitary's ordinary search — the more satisfied I 
became that, to conceal this letter, the Minister had resorted 5 
to the comprehensive and sagacious expedient of not attempt- 
ing to conceal it at all. 

" Full of these ideas, I prepared myself with a pair of green 
spectacles, and called one fine morning, quite by accident, at 

the Ministerial Hotel. I found D at home, yawning, 10 

lounging, and dawdling, as usual, and pretending to be in the 
last extremity of ennui. He is, perhaps, the most really ener- 
getic human being now alive — but that is only when nobody 
sees him. 

"To be even with him, I complained of my weak eyes, and 15 
lamented the necessity of the spectacles, under cover of which 
I cautiously and thoroughly surveyed the apartment, while 
seemingly intent only upon the conversation of my host. 

" I paid especial attention to a large writing-table near 
which he sat, and upon which lay confusedly some miscella- 20 
neous letters and other papers, with one or two musical instru- 
ments and a few books. Here, however, after a long and 
very deliberate scrutiny, I saw nothing to excite particular 
suspicion. 

" At length my eyes, in going the circuit of the room, fell 25 
upon a trumpery filigree card-rack of pasteboard, that hung 
dangling by a dirty blue ribbon from a little brass knob just 
beneath the middle of the mantelpiece. In this rack, which 
had three or four compartments, were five or six visiting cards 
and a solitary letter. This last was much soiled and crumpled. 30 
It was torn nearly in two, across the middle — as if a design, 
in the first instance, to tear it entirely up as worthless, had been 
altered, or stayed, in the second. It had a large black seal, 
bearing the D cipher very conspicuously, and was ad- 
dressed, in a diminutive female hand, to D , the Minister 35 



1/8 SELECTIONS FROM POE 

himself. It was thrust carelessly, and even, as it seemed, con- 
temptuously, into one of the upper divisions of the rack. 

" No sooner had I glanced at this letter, than I concluded 

it to be that of which I was in search. To be sure, it was, to 

5 all appearance, radically different from the one of which the 

Prefect had read us so minute a description. Here the seal 

was large and black, with the D cipher; there it was 

small and red, with the ducal arms of the S family. Here, 

the address, to the Minister, was diminutive and feminine; 

10 there the superscription, to a certain royal personage, was 
markedly bold and decided ; the size alone formed a point of 
correspondence. But then, the radicalness of these differences, 
which was excessive ; the dirt ; the soiled and torn condition of 
the paper, so inconsistent with the true methodical habits of 

T5 D , and so suggestive of a design to delude the beholder 

into an idea of the worthlessness of the document ; these things, 
together with the hyperobtrusive situation of this document, 
full in the view of every visitor, and thus exactly in accordance 
with the conclusions to which I had previously arrived ; these 

2o things, I say, were strongly corroborative of suspicion, in one 
who came with the intention to suspect. 

" I protracted my visit as long as possible, and, while I main- 
tained a most animated discussion with the Minister, upon a 
topic which I knew well had never failed to interest and 

25 excite him, I kept my attention really riveted upon the letter. 
In this examination, I committed to memory its external 
appearance and arrangement in the rack; and also fell, at 
length, upon a discovery which set at rest whatever trivial 
doubt I might have entertained. In scrutinizing the edges of 

30 the paper, I observed them to be more chafed than seemed 
necessary. They presented the broken appearance which is 
manifested when a stiff paper, having been once folded and 
pressed with a folder, is refolded in a reversed direction, in 
the same creases or edges which had formed the original fold. 

35 This discovery was sufficient. It was clear to me that the letter 



THE PURLOINED LETTER 179 

had been turned, as a glove, inside out, re-directed, and re- 
sealed. I bade the Minister good-morning, and took my depar- 
ture at once, leaving a gold snuff-box upon the table. 

"The next morning I called for the snuff-box, when we 
resumed, quite eagerly, the conversation of the preceding day. 5 
While thus engaged, however, a loud report, as if of a pistol, 
was heard immediately beneath the windows of the Hotel, and 
was succeeded by a series of fearful screams, and the shoutings 

of a mob. D rushed to a casement, threw it open, and 

looked out. In the meantime, I stepped to the card-rack, took 10 
the letter, put it in my pocket, and replaced it by a facsimile 
(so far as regards externals), which I had carefully prepared at 

my lodgings — imitating the D cipher, very readily, by 

means of a seal formed of bread. 

" The disturbance in the street had been occasioned by the 15 
frantic behavior of a man with a musket. He had fired it 
among a crowd of women and children. It proved, however, 
to have been without ball, and the fellow was suffered to go 

his way as a lunatic or a drunkard. When he had gone, D 

came from the window, whither I had followed him imme- 20 
d lately upon securing the object in view. Soon afterwards I 
bade him farewell. The pretended lunatic was a man in my 
own pay." 

"But what purpose had you," I asked, "in replacing the 
letter by a facsimile? Would it not have been better, at the 25 
first visit, to have seized it openly, and departed? " 

" D ," replied Dupin, " is a desperate man, and a man 

of nerve. His Hotel, too, is not without attendants devoted 
to his interests. Had I made the wild attempt you suggest, I 
might never have left the Ministerial presence alive. The good 30 
people of Paris might have heard of me no more. But I had 
an object apart from these considerations. You know my poli- 
tical prepossessions. In this matter, I act as a partisan of the 
lady concerned. For eighteen months the Minister has had 
her in his power. She has now him in hers — since, being 35 



l80 SELECTIONS FROM POE 

unaware that the letter is not in his possession, he will proceed 
with his exactions as if it was. Thus will he inevitably commit 
himself, at once, to his political destruction. His downfall, too, 
will not be more precipitate than awkward. It is all very well 
5 to talk about the facilis descensus Averni ; but in all kinds of 
climbing, as Catalani said of singing, it is far more easy to get 
up than to come down. In the present instance I have no 
sympathy — at least no pity — for him who descends. He is 
that monstrum hoi'i'endiim^ an unprincipled man of genius. I 

lo confess, however, that I should like very well to know the 
precise character of his thoughts, when, being defied by her 
whom the Prefect terms 'a certain personage,' he is reduced 
to opening the letter which I left for him in the card-rack." 
" How? Did you put anything particular in it? " 

15 '' Why — it did not seem altogether right to leave the interior 

blank — that would have been insulting. D , at Vienna 

once, did me an evil turn, which I told him, quite good- 
humoredly, that I should remember. So, as I knew he would feel 
some curiosity in regard to the identity of the person who had 

20 outwitted him, I thought it a pity not to give him a clew. He 
is well acquainted with my MS., and I just copied into the 
middle of the blank sheet the words — 

' Un dessein si funeste, 

S'il n'est digne d'Atrde, est digne de Thyeste.' 

25 They are to be found in Cr^billon's Atree.'' 



NOTES 



The text followed both for poems and tales is that of the Stedman- 
Woodberry edition of Poe's Works, in which the editors followed, in 
most cases, the text of what is known as the " Lorimer Graham" copy 
of the edition of 1845, containing marginal corrections in Poe's own 
hand. Poe revised his work frequently and sometimes extensively. 
The following notes show, in most cases, the dates both of the first 
publication and of subsequent ones. Familiarity with the Introduction 
to this book will, in some cases, be necessary to an understanding of the 
notes. Gayley's " Classic Myths in English Literature " (Ginn & Com- 
pany, ^1.50) is the best reference work of small size for allusions to 
mythology, and should be available. 

Both poems and tales are arranged in chronological order. 

POEMS 

SONG (Pages) 

Published in 1827, 1829, and 1845. ^^^ poem is believed to refer to 
Miss Royster, of Richmond, with whom Poe was in love as a boy of six- 
teen, shortly before he entered the University of Virginia. The young 
lady's father intercepted the correspondence, and Miss Royster soon 
became Mrs. Shelton. The blush, mentioned in lines 2, 9, and 14, is 
doubtless intended to imply shame for her desertion. The poem is com- 
monplace, and shows little that is characteristic of the older Poe. 

SPIRITS OF THE DEAD (Pages) 

Published in 1827 as "Visit of the Dead," and in 1829 and 1839 
under the above Utle. It has been conjectured that this poem was 
inspired by the death of Mrs. Stannard (see Introduction, page xii). 

TO (Page 4) 

The original, longer and addressed " To M ," appeared in the 

edition of 1829, and was republished in 1845. 

181 



l82 SELECTIONS FROM POE 

ROMANCE (Page 5) 

Printed as a preface in 1829, and as an introduction in 1831 ; con- 
siderably revised and shortened, it appeared in 1843 ^^^^ ^^45 ^s 
" Romance." 

II. condor years. The metaphor implies a likeness of time — the years 
— to a bird of prey. Cf. " condor wings " in " The Conqueror Worm." 

19. forbidden things: i.e. "lyre and rhyme." What is the meaning? 

TO THE RIVER (Page 5) 

Published first in 1829, afterwards in several magazines and in the 
edition of 1845. 

TO SCIENCE (Page 6) 

Published first in 1829, this poem appeared in editions of 1831 and 
1845, ^"^ ""^ magazines. It is a sonnet, differing from the Shakespearean 
form only in the repetition of the rhyme with " eyes." 

9, ID, 12. In classical mythology, Diana is the moon goddess, Hama- 
dryad, a wood nymph. Naiad, a water nymph. Consult Gayley's 
" Classic Myths." Explain the figures of speech. 

13. Elfin : elf, a fairy, from the Anglo-Saxon, refers especially to tiny 
sprites, fond of mischief and tricks. But there were various kinds of 
elves, according to the Norse mythology. Consult Gayley's " Classic 
Myths." Explain the figure. 

14. tamarind-tree : a beautiful, spreading. Oriental tree, with pinnate 
leaves and showy racemes of yellow flowers variegated with red. What 
does the line mean ? 

TO HELEN (Page 7) 

Published in 1831, 1836, 1841, 1843, and 1845. Read comment in 
the Introduction, pages xii and xxiii. 

2. Nicaean barks. It is impossible to say exactly what this allusion 
means. Professor W. P. Trent aptly suggests that if "wanderer" in 
line 4 refers to Ulysses, as seems likely, " Phaeacian " would have been 
the right word, since the Phaeacians did convey Ulysses to Ithaca. Poe 
may have had that idea in mind and used the wrong word, or this may 
simply be a characteristically vague suggestion of antiquity. Point out 
similar examples of indefinite suggestion in this poem. 

7. hyacinth hair: a favorite term with Poe. In " The Assignation " 
he says of the Marchesa Aphrodite, " Her hair . . . clustered round and 



NOTES 183 

round her classical head, in curls like those of the young hyacinth," 
The hair of Ligeia, in the story of that title, he calls " the raven-black, 
the glossy, the luxuriant and naturally-curling tresses, setting forth the 
full force of the Homeric epithet, ' hyacinthine.' " 

8. Naiad airs : suggestive of exquisite grace. The Naiads, in classical 
mythology, are water nymphs, — lovely maidens presiding over brooks 
and fountains. 

9, 10. Two of Poe's best and most frequently quoted lines. Explain 
the fitness of the epithets. Originally the lines read : 

To the beauty of fair Greece 
And the grandeur of old Rome. 

Is the change an improvement ? Explain. 

14. Psyche: the Greek word for "soul," and also the name of a 
beautiful maiden whom Cupid himself loved and wedded. Read the 
story in Gayley's " Classic Myths." 

ISRAFEL (Page 7) 

Published in editions of 1831 and 1845, and several times in maga- 
zines. See comment in the Introduction, page xxiii. Poe derived the 
quotation through Moore's " Lalla Rookh," altered it sUghtly, and inter- 
polated the clause, " whose heart-strings are a lute " ; it is from Sale's 
" Preliminary Discourse " to the Koran. 

12. levin, or leven : an archaic word for " lightning." 

13. Pleiads, or Pleiades : a group of stars in the constellation Taurus; 
only six stars of the group are readily visible, but legend tells of a sev- 
enth, lost. Read the account of the ancient myth in Gayley's " Classic 
Myths." 

23. skies: the object of " trod." 

26. Houri : derived from an Arabian word meaning " to have brilliant 
black eyes." It is the name in Mohammedan tradition for beautiful 
nymphs of Paradise, who are to be companions of the pious. 

THE CITY IN THE SEA (Page 9) 

Published in 1831 as "The Doomed City," in 1836 as "The City 
of Sin," and several times in 1845 under the above title. 

Point out examples of alliteration. 

18. Babylon-like walls. The walls of the ancient city of Babylon, on 
the Euphrates, were famous for massiveness and extent. 



l84 SELECTIONS FROM POE 

THE SLEEPER (Page ii) 

Published as "Irene " in 1831 and 1836, and as "The Sleeper" in 1843 
and 1845. The theme is Poe's favorite, the death of a beautiful young 
woman, and the poem is remarkable, even among Poe's, for its melody. 

LENORE (Page 13) 

Published as "A Paean" in 1831 and 1836, and as " Lenore " in 1843 
and 1845. It was much altered in its numerous revisions. 

1. broken is the golden bowl. See Ecclesiastes xii. 6. 

2. Stygian river. The Styx was a river of Hades, across which the 
souls of the dead had to be ferried. 

3. Guy De Vere : the mourning lover. It is he who speaks in the 
second and fourth stanzas. 

13. Peccavimus : literally, "we have sinned." This stanza is the 
reply of the false friends. 

THE VALLEY OF UNREST (Page 14) 

Published in 1831 as " The Valley Nis," with an obscure allusion to 

a " Syriac Tale " : 

Something about Satan's dart — 

Something about angel wings — 

Much about a broken heart — 

All about unhappy things : 

But "the Valley Nis" at best 

' Means "the Valley of Unrest." 

Later it was published in magazines and in the 1845 edition, revised 
and improved, and transformed into a simple landscape picture, — one 
of the strange, weird, unearthly landscapes so characteristic of Poe. 

THE COLISEUM (Page 15) 

This poem was submitted in the prize contest in Baltimore in 1833, 
and would have been successful but for the fact that the author's story, 
" The Manuscript Found in a Bottle," had taken the first prize in its 
class. It was republished several times, but not much altered. The 
usual spelling is " Colosseum." It is very unlikely that Poe ever saw 
the Colosseum, though it is barely possible his foster parents may have 
taken him to Rome during the English residence (see Introduction, 
page xii). 



NOTES 185 

13-14. Apparently a reference to Jesus, but characteristically vague. 

15-16. The ancient Chaldeans were famous students of the heavens 
and practiced fortune telling by the stars ; during the Middle Ages 
astrologers were commonly called " Chaldeans." 

17. hero fell. Explain the allusion. Read an account of the Colos- 
seum in a history or reference book. 

18. mimic eagle : the eagle on the Roman standard. 
20. gilded hair : adorned with golden ornaments. 

26-29. arcades, plinths, shafts, entablatures, frieze, cornices. Consult 
the dictionaiy and explain these architectural terms. 

36. Memnon : a gigantic statue of this Greek hero on the banks of the 
Nile was said to salute the rising sun with a musical note. 



HYMN (Page 16) 

Published in 1835 ^^ ^^^ tale " Morella," and several times afterward 
in magazines and collections. As an expression of simple, religious trust 
and hope, this poem stands quite apart from all others by Poe. 



TO ONE IN PARADISE (Page 17) 

Published in 1835 as part of the tale called " The Visionary," after- 
ward "The Assignation"; in 1839 in a magazine under the title "To 
lanthe in Heaven " ; and several times afterward in magazines and in 
collections. It fits admirably into the story " The Assignation," where 
it contains this additional stanza, readily understood in its setting : 

Alas ! for that accursed time 

They bore thee o'er the billow, 
From Love to titled age and crime 

And an unholy pillow — 
From me, and from our misty clime 

Where weeps the silver willow. 

TO F (Page 18) 

Appeared in 1835 under the title " To Mary," and in 1842 and 18.13, 
"To One Departed." It is not known to whom these forms were 
addressed. In 1845 i* again appeared with the above title, which is 
believed to refer to Mrs. Frances Sargent Osgood, a poet of the time, 
whom Poe greatly admired. 



l86 SELECTIONS FROM POE 

TO F S S. O D (Page i8) 

First appeared in the Sottthern Literary Messenger (1835) ^^ " Lines 
Written in an Album," addressed to Eliza White, a young daughter of 
the editor of the Messenger ; in 1839 the same lines were addressed 

" To ," whose name is unknown ; and in 1845 ^^^y were addressed 

under the above title to Mrs. Osgood (see note on the preceding poem). 

TO ZANTE (Page 18) 

Published in 1837, 1843, ^^^ 1845. ^^ form this is a regular Shake- 
spearean sonnet. Zante is one of the principal Ionian islands, in ancient 
times called Zacynthus. Again the poet writes of a fair isle in the sea ; 
point out other instances. Note the fondness for " no more," and find 
examples in other poems. As usual with Poe, the thread of thought 
is slight and indefinite ; apparently the beautiful island has become 
"accursed ground" because of the death there of the "maiden that 
is no more." 

I . fairest of all flowers. There is a zantewood, or satinwood, but it 
does not take its name from this island. Poe associated the name of 
the island with the hyacinth, but there is no etymological connection. 
He probably derived his fancy from a passage in Chateaubriand's 
" Itineraire de Paris a Jerusalem," page 53. 

13. hyacinthine isle : a reference to the flowers of the island (see 
preceding note). 

14. "Isola d'oro! Fior di Levante ! " "Golden Isle! Flower of the 
Levant ! " These are Italian terms for Zante ; they occur in the passage 
in Chateaubriand referred to in the note on line i. 

BRIDAL BALLAD (Page 19) 

Published in 1837, 1841, 1845, ^"*i greatly improved in revision. The 
bride remembers her dead lover who died in battle, and wonders fear- 
fully whether " the dead who is forsaken " knows and is unhappy. 

SILENCE (Page 20) 
Published in 1840, 1843, and 1845. 

THE CONQUEROR WORM (Page 21) 

Published in 1843 ^'^^ 1845. The repulsive imagery recurs in 
several of the tales and poems, and shows one of the most morbid 



NOTES 187 

phases of Poe's imagination (see Introduction, page xxiv). It would 
hardly meet Poe's own test of beauty, but the grim power of this 
terrible picture is palpable enough. 

9. Mimes : actors, who in this case are men ; mankind. 

13. vast formless things : doubtless the Fates (consult Gayley's 
" Classic Myths ") ; at any rate beings who exercise the same powers. 

15. condor wings. The condor is a great vulture of South America ; 
the word here suggests the Fates preying on human happiness, health, 
and life. 

18. Phantom: happiness, or perhaps any object of human desire or 
ambition. 

DREAM-LAND (Page 22) 

Published in 1844 and 1845. The poem paints another of Poe's 
extraordinary landscapes. 

3. Eidolon : phantom, specter, shade. 

6. ultimate dim Thule. " Thule " was used by the ancients to indi- 
cate extreme northern regions; the Romans used the phrase "Ultima 
Thule " to denote the most remote, unknown land. What does the 
allusion signify here ? 

THE RAVEN (Page 24) 

Published in 1845 "^ various magazines, first in the New York 
Evening Mh-ror of January 29. This is the most famous if not the 
best of Poe's poems. There is a clear thread of narrative and greater 
dramatic interest than in any other of the author's poems. If possible, 
read "The Philosophy of Composition," in which Poe gives a remark- 
able account of the composition of this poem, an account which is to 
be accepted, however, as explaining only the mechanical side of the 
work. This essay is included in Cody's " Best Poems and Essays " 
(see Bibliography, page xxxi). Read the comment in the Introduction, 
page xxiv. Note the numerous alliterations. 

34. thereat is. Was the idea phrased this way for any other purpose 
than to make a rhyme } Is it artistic ? 

38. Raven. Read an account of the bird in a natural history or an 
encyclopedia ; it is frequently mentioned in English literature as a bird 
of ill omen. 

41. Pallas : Minerva, goddess of wdsdom. Consult Gayley's " Clas- 
sic Myths." Is a bust of Pallas appropriate for a library ? 

47. Plutonian : from Pluto, god of the underworld. 



l88 SELECTIONS FROM POE 

64, 65. burden : thought or theme. 

76-77. gloated . . . gloating. It is innpossible to say just what is 
suggested. It is characteristically vague. Find other examples in this 
poem. 

80. tinkled on the tufted floor. Not very easy to imagine. In " Ligeia," 
Poe speaks of " carpets of tufted gold," apparently meaning fabrics of 
very thick and rich material. Perhaps we may think of the tinkling as 
proceeding from tiny bells. 

81. "Wretch," etc. The lover addresses himself. 

82. nepenthe : a name given in Homer's " Odyssey " to a drug offered 
to Helen in Egypt, the effect of which was to banish all grief and pain. 
Later the term was sometimes used for opium. 

89. balm in Gilead. Gilead is a district on the banks of the Jordan 
and the "balm" an herb of reputed medicinal value. The allusion 
here is to Jeremiah viii. 22 : " Is there no balm in Gilead? is there no 
physician there ? " The lover means to ask if there is any remedy for 
his sorrow, any consolation. Perhaps he means, " Is there any solace 
after death ? " or " Is there any solace either in this world or the next ?" 
93. Aidenn : Eden, Paradise, from the Arabic iormAd/i; coined by 
Poe for the rhyme. 

loi. This line, Poe said in "The Philosophy of Composition," first 
betrays clearly the allegorical nature of the poem. 

106. the lamp-light o'er him streaming. In answer to criticism on this 
line, Poe explained, " My conception was that of the bracket cande- 
labrum affixed against the wall, high up above the door and bust, as is 
often seen in the English palaces, and even in some of the better houses 
of New York." 

107, 108. In these last lines the allegory is fully revealed. 

EULALIE (Page 29) 

Published in 1845 ^'^^'^ *^^ subtitle, "A Song." 

19. Astarte. See note on line 27 oi " Ulalume," page 189, 

TO M. L. S (Page 30) 

Published March 13, 1847, ^"^ addressed to Mrs. Marie Louise 
Shew, who had been a veritable angel of mercy in the Poe home. She 
relieved the poverty and helped to care for Virginia (who died Janu- 
ary 29), and afterward nursed Poe himself during his severe illness, 
Mrs, Shew had had some medical training and probably saved Poe's 



NOTES 189 

life. This brief poem is instinct with a gratitude and reverence easy to 
understand, and is, for Poe, unusually spontaneous. 

ULALUME (Page 30) 
Published in December, 1847, and in January, 1848. The earlier form 
contained an additional stanza, afterward wisely omitted. Read the 
comment on the poem in the Introduction, pages xxiv-xxv. 

5. Immemorial : properly means extending indefinitely into the past. 
Poe may mean that the year has seemed endless to him, but apparently 
he uses the word in the sense of memorable. 

6, 7. Auber rhymes with October, Weir with year ; the names were 
coined by Poe for rhyme and tone color. Note the resemblance of 
" Weir" to "weird." 

8. tarn : a small mountain lake. It is used provincially in England 
to mean a boggy or marshy tract. Poe used the word to signify a dark, 
stagnant pool. Cf. " The Fall of the House of Usher," page 49. 

11. cypress. What is its significance ? 

12. Psyche: soul. Cf. note on line 14 of "To Helen," page 183. 
14. scoriae : a very rare word, from sco?'ia (lava). 

16. Yaanek : another specially coined word. 

35. crescent : suggesting hope. 

37, 39. Astarte : a Phoenician goddess, as the deity of love corre- 
sponding to Venus (Aphrodite), and as moon goddess to Dian, or Diana 
(Artemis). But Diana was chaste and cold to the advances of lovers, 
which explains " she (Astarte) is warmer than Dian." 

43. where the worm never dies : implies the gnawing of unending 
grief. Cf. Isaiah Ixvi. 24, and Mark ix. 44, 46, 48. 

44. The Lion : the constellation Leo. 

64. sibyllic : usually " sibylline," prophetic ; from " sibyl." Consult 
Gayley's "Classic Myths." 

79. legended tomb : having on it an inscription. 

TO (Page 33) 

Published in March, 1848, and is another tribute to Mrs. Shew. See 

note on " To M. L. S ," page 188. 

9-10. The quotation is from George Peele's " David and Bethsabe," 
an English drama published in 1599 : 

Or let the dew be sweeter far than that 

That hangs, like chains of pearl, on Hermon hill. 

14-15. Cf. the poem " Israfel," and the notes on it. 



IQO SELECTIONS FROM POE 

AN ENIGMA (Page 34) 

Published in March, 1848. To find the name, read the first letter of 
the first line, the second letter of the second line, and so on. In form 
this is a sonnet irregular in rhyme scheme. 

1. Solomon Don Dunce : a fanciful name for a stupid person. 

6. Petrarchan stuff: of or by Petrarch (1304-1374), a famous Italian 
writer of sonnets. 

10. tuckermanities : a contemptuous allusion to the poetic efforts of 
Henry T. Tuckerman, a New England writer of the day. 

14. dear names : Sarah Anna Lewis, a verse writer of the day, whom 
Poe admired. 

TO HELEN (Page 35) 

Published in November, 1848 ; addressed to Mrs. Sarah Helen Whit- 
man (see Introduction, page xvii). Although her engagement to marry 
Poe was broken off, she continued to admire him and was faithful to his 
memory after his death. The poem was written before Poe met Mrs. 
Whitman, and is said to have been suggested by the poet's having 
caught a glimpse of the lady walking in a garden by moonlight. 

48. Dian : Diana, the moon goddess. 

66. Venuses : refers at once to the planet Venus and to Venus, god- 
dess of love. 

A VALENTINE (Page t,j) 

Published in 1849. The name is found as in " An Enigma," by read- 
ing the first letter of the first line, the second of the second, and so on. 

2. twins of Leda : Castor and Pollux, two stars in the constellation 
Gemini. For the myth consult Gayley's " Classic Myths." 

3. her own sweet name : Frances Sargent Osgood. See note on the 
lines *' To F ," page 185. 

10. Gordian knot. Explain this; consult an encyclopedia. 

14. perdus : lost, a French word introduced to rhyme with " too." 

17. lying: used in a double sense. 

18. Mendez Ferdinando Pinto, a Portuguese traveler (i 509-1 583), was 
said to have been the first white man to visit Japan. He wTote an ac- 
count of his travels, which at the time was considered mere romancing. 

FOR ANNIE (Page 37) 

Published in 1849, and addressed to Mrs. Richmond of Lowell, Massa- 
chusetts. This is the " Annie " so frequently referred to in biographies 



NOTES 191 

of Poe, who also figures in his correspondence. Of all the women asso- 
ciated with Poe's later years (see Introduction, pages xvi-xvii), "Annie" 
was the object of his most sincere and ardent friendship, and was his 
confidant in all his troubles, — including the courtship of Mrs. Whitman. 
Poe and Mrs. Clemm were frequent visitors at her home, and the latter 
found shelter there for a time after her "Eddie's " death. 

This poem is usually regarded as one of the author's poorest, though 
it has a distinctly individual character that must be recognized. Thus Pro- 
fessor C. F. Richardson, in his " American Literature," quoting several 
stanzas, remarks, " This is doggerel, but it is Poe's special doggerel." 
Some of the lines really deserve this severe epithet, but hardly the 
entire poem. Its theme seems to be peace in death through the affec- 
tion of Annie, following a life of passion and sorrow, and so regarded, 
it has some strength. 

THE BELLS (Page 41) 

Published in 1849. Read the comment on this poem in the Intro- 
duction, page XXV. Though not especially characteristic of him, this 
is one of Poe's most remarkable poems, as well as one of the most 
popular. A very interesting account of its composition may be found in 
Woodberry's biography, pages 302-304, or in Harrison's biography, 
pages 286-288, or in the Stedman-Woodberry edition of Poe's Works, 
Vol. X, pages 183-186. 

10. Runic. Runes are the characters of the alphabet of the early 
Germanic peoples. The allusion is intended to suggest mystery and 
magic. Consult an unabridged dictionary or an encyclopedia. 

23. gloats. What does the word mean here ? Cf. line 76 of " The 
Raven," and corresponding notes. 

ANNABEL LEE (Page 44) 

Published in the N'eiv Yoi-k T?'ibHne, October 9, 1849, two days after 
the poet's death. Read the comment in the Introduction, page xxv. 
Note the mid-rhymes in line 26, " chilling and killing," and in line 32, 
" ever dissever" ; point out other examples in " The Raven " and other 
poems. 

TO MY MOTHER (Page 46) 

Published in 1849 ! i^ form, a regular Shakespearean sonnet. It is a 
sincere tribute addressed to Mrs. Clemm, mother of Poe's girl wife, 
Virginia, a woman who was more than worthy of it. The tenderest affec- 
tion existed between the two, and Mrs. Clemm cared for him after Vir- 
ginia's death and grieved profoundly at his own. She lived until 1871. 



192 SELECTIONS FROM POE 

ELDORADO (Page 46) 

This first appeared in the Griswold edition of 1850 ; no earlier publi- 
cation is known. It was probably Poe's last composition, and this story 
of the knight's quest, its failure, and his gaze turned to " the Valley of 
the Shadow%" is a fitting finale for the ill-starred poet (see comment in 
the Introduction, page xxv). 

Eldorado : a fabled city or country abounding in gold and precious 
stones, and afterward any place of great wealth. The word is often used 
figuratively. In a preface to an early volume of his poetry, Poe alludes 
quite incidentally to " the poet's own kingdom — his El Dorado," and in 
this sense the metaphor may be accepted here. 

Note the varying sense of the recurring rhyme, shadow. In the first 
stanza it is simply contrasted with the " sunshine " or happiness of Hfe, 
in the second it implies the coming of discouragement and despair, in 
the third it is the shadow of death cast before, in the fourth the Valley 
of the Shadow of Death. 

THE HAUNTED PALACE (Page 59) 

Published in the Baltimore Musejim in April, 1839, and in September 
of the same year in Burton'' s Gentlejnaii's Magazine as part of the tale 
" The Fall of the House of Usher " ; afterwards published in 1840, 1843, 
and 1845. It ^'^s altered very slightly in revision. Lowell wrote that he 
knew of no modern poet who might not justly be proud of it (see 
Introduction, pages xxiii-xxiv). 

5924. Porphyrogene : from Greek words meaning "purple" and 
" begotten," hence, born in the purple, royal. This term, or " por- 
phyrogenitus," w^as applied in the Byzantine empire to children of the 
monarch born after his accession to the throne. It is not clear whether 
the word is used here as a descriptive adjective or as the name of the 
monarch. 

TALES 

THE FALL OF THE HOUSE OF USHER (Page 49) 

Published first in 1839, and several times reprinted with revisions. 
Read the comment in the Introduction, page xxvii. Lowell said of this 
story : " Had its author written nothing else, it would alone have been 
enough to stamp him as a man of genius, and a master of a classic 
style." 



NOTES 193 

This tale is one of the best to study as an example of the application 
of Foe's critical theory of the short story (see Introduction, page xxvi). 
What is the "effect" sought? Is the main incident of the tale well 
adapted to produce this effect ? Are the parts skillfully related to one 
another and to the whole ? Is the setting suitable to the theme ? What 
is the effect of the first sentence ? Pick out a number of rather unusual 
words which Poe seems particularly to like ; observe their effect. The 
adjectives are especially worth study ; in the first sentence try the effect 
of substituting for " soundless," " quiet," or "silent," or '• noiseless." 

49. Quotation : " His heart is a suspended lute ; as soon as it is 
touched it resounds." P. J. B6ranger (i 780-1 857), a popular French 
lyric poet. 

50 12. black and lurid tarn : see note to line 8 of "Ulalume," page 189. 
Tarn is one of several words Poe particularly liked. 

53 10. low cunning. See if the reason for this encounter appears 
later. 

53 31. ennuy6 : a French word meaning "wearied," "bored." 

54 5-24. The description of Usher is in the main a remarkably good 
portrait of Poe himself. 

56 20-30. Observe the extreme to which Poe goes in this study of 
terror; it is the fear of fear that oppresses Usher. 

56 2. too shadowy here to be re-stated. Note the effect of making 
this weird suggestion instead of a clear statement. 

57 26. Von Weber (i 786-1 826), a famous German composer. 

58 5. Henry Fuseli, or Fuesli (i 742-1825), as he was known in Eng- 
land, was born in Zurich, Switzerland, and named Johann Heinrich 
Fuessli. He was a professor in the Royal Academy and painted a series 
of highly imaginative pictures illustrating Shakespeare and Milton. 

59. The Haunted Palace. For notes see page 192. 

60 30-31. Richard Watson (1737-1816), Bishop of Llandaff, was 
for a time professor of chemistry at Cambridge University and wrote 
popular essays on that subject. James Gates Percival (i 795-1856) was 
an American poet, musician, linguist, surgeon, and scientist ; it is pos- 
sible the reference is to Thomas Percival (i 740-1804), an English 
physician. Lazzaro Spallanzani (i 729-1799) was an Italian naturalist, 
distinguished in experimental physiology. 

61 22-31. All of these titles have been traced, except the last, which 
Poe either invented, or, in quoting, altered. Some of the works named 
he apparently had not read, since their character is not suited to his 
purpose. Jean Baptiste Louis Gresset (i 709-1 777) was a French poet 



194 SELECTIONS FROM POE 

and playwright; the two works mentioned are poems, — the first, a tale 
of an escaped parrot who stopped at a convent and shocked the nuns 
by his profanity. Niccolo Machiavelli (1469-1527) was a famous Italian 
historian and statesman, who wrote a celebrated treatise called " The 
Prince " ; " Belphegor " is a satire on marriage. Emanuel Swedenborg 
(1688-1772) was an eminent Swedish theologian and religious mystic. 
Ludvig Holberg (1684-1754) was a great Danish poet and novelist; the 
work mentioned is one of his best known poems and has been trans- 
lated into the principal languages of Europe. Flud, Robert Fludd (1574- 
1637), was an English physician, inventor, and mystic philosopher. Jean 
D'Indagine (flourished in the first half of the sixteenth century) was a 
priest of Steinheim, Germany, who wrote on palmistry and similar sub- 
jects. Marin Cureau de la Chambre (i 594-1675), physician to Louis XIV, 
who was an adept in physiognomy, and wrote a work on " The Art of 
Judging Men." Ludwig Tieck (i 773-1853) was a German romantic 
novelist. Tommaso Campanella (i 568-1639) was an Italian monk and 
philosopher, who suffered persecution by the Inquisition. Eymeric, 
Nicolas Eymericus (i 320-1 399), was a native of Gerona, Spain, who 
entered the Dominican order and rose to the rank of chaplain to the 
Pope and Grand Inquisitor ; his famous " Directorium Inquisitorum " 
is an elaborate account of the Inquisition. Pomponius Mela was a Latin 
writer of the first century A.D., who wrote a famous work on geography 
" De Situ Orbis " (Concerning the Plan of the Earth). 

61 31. Satyrs and .SIgipans : in classic mythology the satyrs and 
minor deities of wood and field, with the body of a man and the feet, 
hair, and horns of a goat ; aegipans is practically equivalent to, and is also 
an epithet of Pan, the satyr-like rural god. 

61 33-34. curious book in quarto Gothic : printed in the black-faced 
letters of mediaeval times. 

61 35. The Latin title, which has not been found, means "Vigils for 
the Dead according to the Choir of the Church of Mayence." 

66 1-2. The " Mad Trist " of Sir Launcelot Canning has not been 
found ; undoubtedly the title was coined and the quotations invented 
to fit the text, as they do perfectly. 

69 24-25. It was the work of the rushing gust. Note the fine effect 
of the momentary suspense, the instant's disappointment carried by 
this clause. 

WILLIAM WILSON (Page 71) 

First published in a magazine in 1840 (see comment in the Intro- 
duction, page xxvii). 



NOTES 195 

71. Quotation. William Chamberlayne, an English poet and physi- 
cian (1619-1689), who in 1659'published " Pharronida, a Heroic Poem." 

71 18. Elah-Gabalus : usually Elagabulus, emperor of Rome from 
218-222, who indulged in the wildest debaucheries. 

72 26-73 2. The description here is based on fact, apparently being a 
true picture of the English school attended by Poe himself (see Intro- 
duction, page xii). 

73 31. Draconian Laws : Draco was an Athenian legislator, who codi- 
fied the laws of his city in 621 B.C. The penalty for every offense was 
death, and the laws were, therefore, said to be written in blood, not ink. 

755. peine forte et dure: "punishment severe and merciless"; a 
penalty formerly imposed by English law upon persons who refused to 
plead on being arraigned for felony. It consisted in laying the accused 
on his back on a bare floor and placing a great iron weight on his chest 
until he consented to plead or died. There is one instance of the inflic- 
tion of this punishment in American colonial history: Giles Cory, accused 
of witchcraft, was pressed to death in Salem, Massachusetts, in 1692. 

75 33. exergues : the exergue is a term in numismatics to signify the 
space under the principal figure on the reverse of a coin, usually con- 
taining the date or place of coining. 

76 7. " Oh, le bon temps, que ce siecle de fer ! " " Oh ! the good time, 
the age of iron." 

86 II. Herodes Atticus: a Greek born about a.d. ioi, who inherited 
from his father, of the same name, great wealth, to which he added by 
marriage. He was a noted teacher of rhetoric and became a Roman 
consul. 

A DESCENT INTO THE MAELSTROM (Page 94) 

First published in a magazine in 1841 (see comment in the Intro- 
duction, pages xxvii-xxviii). 

94. Quotation. Joseph Glanville, or Glanvill (1636-1680), an English 
clergyman and author of several works on philosophy and religion. 
The quotation has been found in the writings of Glanvill by Professor 
Woodberry, but Poe quoted rather carelessly, and his extract varies 
slightly from the original. The Democritus referred to was a famous 
Greek philosopher, born about 470 B.C., who taught the atomic theory. 

94 1-3. Note the effect of the opening sentences in seizing attention 
and arousing interest at once. 

95 21. Nubian geographer . . . Mare Tenebrarum. The same allusion 
occurs in " Eleonora," and in " Eureka" Poe speaks of " the Mare Tene- 
braruniy — an ocean well described by the Nubian geographer, Ptolemy 



196 SELECTIONS FROM POE 

Hephestion." Apparently he refers to Claudius Ptolemy, a celebrated 
philosopher who flourished in Alexandria in the second century a.d. 
His theory, known as the Ptolemaic System, remained the standard 
authority in astronomy to the end of the Middle Ages, while his geog- 
raphy was accepted until the era of the great discoveries opened in the 
fifteenth century. Ptolemy is thought to have been born in Egypt, and 
it is impossible to say what grounds Poe had for calling him Nubian. 
Mare Tenebrarum means "sea of darkness," the Atlantic. 

96 10-15. This is a real description of the geography of the region 
of the Lofoden islands. Refer to a good map of Norway. 

9727. Maelstrom: from Nor^vegian words meaning "grind" and 
" stream." The swift tidal currents and eddies of the Lofoden islands 
are very dangerous, but the early accounts are greatly exaggerated, and 
Foe's description is, aside from being based on these accounts, purely 
imaginative. 

97 32. Jonas Ramus. Professor Woodberry, whose study of Poe's 
text has been exhaustive, has an interesting note to this effect : Poe 
used an article in an early edition of the Encyclopaedia Britannica, in 
which a passage was taken from Pontoppidan's " The Natural History of 
Norway" without acknowledgment, this in turn having been taken 
(with proper acknowledgment) from Ramus. The Britannica, in the 
ninth edition, after giving Poe credit for " erudition taken solely from 
a previous edition of this very encyclopedia, which in its turn had stolen 
the learning from another, quotes the parts that Poe invented out of 
his own head." See " Whirlpool " in the Britannica. 

98 26-27. Norway mile: a little over four and a half English miles. 

99 19. Phlegethon : a river of Hades in which flowed flames instead 
of water. 

100 4. Athanasius Kircher (1601-1680) was a learned Roman Catholic 
writer, a native of Germany. See " Whirlpool " in the Britannica. 

105 2. what a scene it was to light up ! Interest in the narrative 
should not hurry the reader too much to appreciate this scene, — the 
magnificent setting of the adventure. 

109 10. tottering bridge, etc.: Al Sirat, the bridge from earth over 
the abyss of hell to the Mohammedan paradise. It is as narrow as a 
sword's edge, and while the good traverse it in safety, the wicked plunge 
to torment. 

Ill 35. Archimedes of Syracuse (b.c. 287-212) was the greatest of 
ancient mathematicians ; the work to which Poe refers deals with 
floating bodies. 



NOTES 197 

THE MASQUE OF THE RED DEATH (Page 113) 

First published in Grahaf?i^s Alagazine for May, 1842 (see comment 
in the Introduction, page xxvii). 

113. The " Red Death " is a product of Poe's own imagination ; there 
is no record of such a disease in medical history. 

113 3. avatar: a word from Hindoo mythology, in which it means 
an incarnation. The word is used here in its secondary sense, — a visible 
manifestation. 

113 II. This paragraph suggests the circumstances under which 
Boccaccio represents the stories of his famous " Decameron." A com- 
parison will be interesting. 

116 3. decora: possibly used as a plural of "decorum," propriety; 
probably it is intended to suggest ornamentation. 

116 14. Hernani : a well-known tragedy by the great French writer, 
Victor Hugo (1802-1885). 

THE GOLD-BUG (Page 120) 

First published in the Dollar Newspaper of Philadelphia in June, 1843, 
as the ^100 prize story (see comment in the Introduction, page xxviii). 
This is the best and most widely read of the stories regarding Captain 
Kidd's treasure. Read an account of Captain Kidd in an encyclopedia 
or dictionary of biography. 

Is the main incident of the story the discovery of the treasure or the 
solution of the cryptogram? Would the first satisfy you without the 
second ? The plot is worthy of careful study. Consider the following 
points, for example : the significance of the chilly day, how Lieutenant 

G affects the course of events, the incident of the dog rushing in, 

the effect of introducing the gold-bug and making it the title of the 
story. If Poe's purpose was to make a story of cryptography, think of 
some of the innumerable plots he might have used, and see what you 
think of the effectiveness of the one chosen. 

120. Quotation. Arthur Murphy (1727-1805), an English actor and 
playwright, wrote a comedy called " All in the Wrong," but Professor 
W. P. Trent, who examined the play, failed to find Poe's quotation. 

120 15. Poe, while serving in the army, was stationed at Fort Moul- 
trie, and should have known the region well, but his description is said 
to be inaccurate. 

121 II. Jan Swammerdamm (1637-1680), a Dutch naturalist, who 
devoted most of his time to the study of insects. 



198 SELECTIONS FROM POE 

1227. scarabSBUs: Latin for "beetle," and the scientific term in 
entomology. While there are various golden beetles, Poe's was a 
creation of his own. 

122 26. This is one of the early attempts to use negro dialect. Poe's 
efforts are rather clumsy, considering his long residence in the South. 
The reader will notice a number of improbable expressions of Jupiter's, 
introduced for humorous effect, but the general character of the old 
negro is portrayed, in the main, very well. 

124 5. scarabaeus caput hominis : man's-head beetle. 

127 17. brusquerie : brusqueness, abruptness. 

127 20. solus: Latin for "alone." The Latin word is altogether 
unnecessary. Poe was often rather affected in the use of foreign words 
and phrases. 

128 22. empressement : French for " eagerness," cordiality. 

132 31. Liriodendron Tulipifera : the scientific name for the tulip tree, 
which sometimes attains a height of 140 feet and a diameter of 9 feet. 

138 25-26. curvets and caracoles : rare terms belonging to horseman- 
ship ; the first is a low leap, the second a sudden wheel. 

142 13. counters : pieces of money, coins; or the meaning may be 
imitation coins for reckoning or for counting in games. 

142 16. No American money. Why ? 

142 31. Bacchanalian figures : figures dancing and drinking wine at a 
celebration of the worship of Bacchus, god of wine. 

143 29. parchment. What is the difference ? 

147 20. aqua regia : " royal water," so called because it dissolves 
gold, is a mixture of nitric and hydrochloric acids. 

150 15. Golconda : a ruined city of India, once famous as a place for 
the cutting and polishing of diamonds ; used figuratively in the sense of 
a mine of wealth. 

150 30. Read Poe's article on "Cryptography," included in his col- 
lected works. 

151 13. Spanish main: that part of the Caribbean Sea adjacent to 
the coast of South America. It was part of the route of Spanish rfier- 
chant vessels between Spain and her new-world possessions, and was 
infested with pirates. 

THE PURLOINED LETTER (Page 160) 

First published in 1845 (^^e comment on the detective stories in the. 
Introduction, page xxviii). This story is peculiarly original in its incidents 
and subtle in its reasoning. " The Murders in the Rue Morgue" should 



NOTES 199 

certainly be read also, and perhaps it will prove of more sustained 
interest to the majority of readers. 

160. Quotation. Lucius Annseus Seneca (k.c. 4-A.D. 65) was a cele- 
brated Roman philosopher and tutor of the Emperor Nero. The quota- 
tion means : " Nothing is more hateful to wisdom than excessive acumen." 

160 3. Dupin : introduced in "The Murders in the Rue Morgue." 

160 4-5. Au troisieme : French, literally, " on the third," but the mean- 
ing is the fourth floor, because the count is begun above the ground 
floor ; Faubourg St. Germain : an aristocratic section of Paris. 

160 15-16. Monsieur G : introduced in " The Murders in the Rue 

Morgue." 

164 3. Hotel: in French usage, a dwelling of some pretension, — a 
mansion. 

164 7. au fait : French for familiar, expert. 

168 26. John Abemethy (1764-1831), an eminent English surgeon, 
was noted for his brusque manners and his eccentricities. 

171 15-16. Fran9ois, Due de la Rochefoucauld (1613-1680) was a 
French moralist, author of the famous " Maxims " ; Jean de la Bruyere 
(1645-1696) was a French essayist; see notes on Machiavelli and Cam- 
panella under " The Fall of the House of Usher," page 194. 

172 19. recherche : French for "sought after," selected with care. 

173 I. non distributio medii : " undistributed middle," a term in logic 
for a form of fallacious reasoning. Consult an encyclopedia, articles on 
" Logic," "Syllogism," and " Fallacy," or the Century Dictionary under 
" Fallacy." 

173 16. Nicholas Chamfort (1741-1794), a Frenchman, was said to be 
the best conversationalist of his day, and wrote famous maxims and 
epigrams. The quotation means, "It is safe to wager that every pop- 
ular idea, every received convention, is a piece of foolishness, because 
it has suited the majority." 

173 27-28. ambitus : a going round, illegal striving for office ; religio: 
scrupulousness, conscientiousness ; homines honesti : men of distinction. 

17417. Jacob Bryant (1715-1804), an Englishman; his work on 
mythology is of no value. 

175 5. intriguant: an intriguer. 

176 3. vis inertias : force of inertia. 

180 5. facilis descensus Averni : "the descent to Avernus is easy." 
Virgil's "i^neid," VI, 126; Cranch's translation, VI, 161-162. Lake 
Avernus was, in classical mythology, the entrance to Hades. Consult 
Gayley's " Classic Myths." 



200 SELECTIONS FROM POE 

180 6. Angelica Catalan! (i 780-1849), a famous Italian singer. 

180 9. monstrum horrendum : a dreadful monster. 

180 23-24. "A design so baneful, if not worthy of Atreus, is worthy 
of Thyestes." Atreus and Thyestes were brothers to whom, in classic 
story, the most terrible crimes were attributed. 

180 25. Prosper J. de Crebillon (1674-1762), a noted French tragic 
poet. The quotation is from " Atree et Thyeste." 




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